


Jukebox Hero

by Neonbat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Drummer Castiel, Evolving Tags, M/M, Mentions of Cults, Mentions of cult life, Mentions of past childhood molestation, Minor Character Death, Promiscuous Cas, Punk Dean, Rockband AU, Self harm tendencies, Seriously please watch the tags, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Substance Abuse, Suicide mention not main characters, Tags May Change, Tattoo Castiel, Unlearning Homophobia, Vocalist Dean, band au, mentions of child abuse, punk cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: Dean's life feels like nothing spectacular. Just another punk with a dream of stardom from a done-before background. When his brother quits the band to pursue his dreams of settling down, Dean is left in a bind. They've just been signed to Hellhound records, and they need a drummer. Fast.When Jimmy 'Castiel' Novak ends up being that drummer, Dean doesn't know what to think. The man is weird, quiet, and secretive, but he can't help but want to know more. He never expected the man would become someone he could rely on. Someone who would see him at his best and at his worst.There is a darkness lurking underneath both of their skins, begging to be spoken into the light. Two already broken men are trying to navigate a new, intense friendship.





	1. Take it easy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
> So quick notes. Some of you might have found your way here from my other story, I'm here to say this one will be VERY different than WCiM. There will be some squeamish content and I'm sure I'll have to update tags as I go but I'll give head's up in the notes to make sure.
> 
> Secondly, I'm admittedly not ridiculously knowledgeable on the ins and outs of instruments, but I'm making an effort from my old guitar days and research. Don't rage-comment me please but I'm always up for pointers if I do an obvious screw-up. This isn't meant to really be 'band-focussed', but more on their dynamic and personal stories.
> 
> Update: This username used to be xinsanedreamerx
> 
> This will be written for Nanowrimo, so I'm sure I will go back and re-edit at some point after my brain congeals back from the stressed goo. 
> 
> Lastly, I don't own any characters or popular music/band references, aside from the obvious songs and lyrics I'll be making up throughout.

Fire flared, illuminating the splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks as he lit the cigarette perched on his plump lips. “You sure about this new guy?” Dean mumbled to the older man fussing with his smartphone on the worn leather couch at the back of the room.  
  
“Well your brother vouched for ‘im, so if you have a problem take it up with the brat. Now..stop fussin’ and leave me alone. Tryin’ to figure out this- damn, why do they keep makin’ these things if they never work any better?” Bobby grumbled, waving Dean off in frustration as he returned to wrestling with his calendar app.  
  
Dean snorted fondly and shook his head, returning to his cigarette as he watched the rest of the band begin to mill in from the back. Kevin and Charlie looked a little rough around the edges, no doubt from staying up half the night on their computers. Jo looked her usual standard of vaguely pissed and ready to take the day by the horns, which was refreshing compared to the other two.  
  
“New guy coming in today? Hope he’s better than the last chick. She blew donkey wang.” Jo asked over her shoulder as she rested her hip against the counter to grab some coffee he’d made an hour ago. Their practice space wasn’t fancy, but it was worlds away from his garage where they’d started out. Ever since being signed to a small, but rising label, they’d seen a few perks.  
  
“Yeah, supposedly. Five bucks he bails like the first guy.” Dean snorted, smoothing his fingers back through his short crop of light brown hair.  
  
“Or hopped up on pills like the second guy. Gotta admit though, he was pretty chill.” Charlie snickered at her own bad humor as she plunked herself down by their disgruntled manager.

Bobby glanced up from his phone again, looking around the room at the youth he’d foolishly decided to start babysitting after Dean’s father up and decided to fuck off a few years back. He’d always thought the boys were talented, but he’d been pleasantly surprised when they were signed, even if the name was schmaltzy. Hellhound records his greying ass hairs. The owner of the record label was a slimy fellow, but Bobby had met worse people in his life especially in this business, that was for sure.

“How ‘bout you all stop flappin’ your gums and go set up?” He shooed Charlie from her seat, ignoring her pouty ‘humph’ as she went.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes as he snuffed out the rest of his cigarette and pictured up his guitar case.” Yeah yeah, don’t have a stroke, old man. “He grinned cheekily, lone lip ring clicking against his teeth. He’d never had the itch to pierce himself full of holes like Charlie or his brother, but he’d gotten his ears and the center of his lip done a few years back. He still teased Sam to this day after his little brother had to remove all the hoops from his face and ears when he’d started back to school. Just felt like good money down the tubes, but least it was for something worthwhile.

Even if he did feel a little betrayed.

The back door opened, and a man draped in a baggy dark khaki coat weighed down by sewn patches shuffled in. Dean’s first instinct was that the guy looked even less awake than Charlie and Kevin, but he moved with more surety than the tired shambling of the other two. His face was scruffy, and shocks of dark brown hair curled from the slouch of the knit cap tugged down over most of his head. His black boots should sound heavy against the floor, but he made little more noise than Dean’s own sneakers as he moved.  
  
The newcomer looked around, vibrantly blue eyes settling on Dean after a moment.” Castiel Novak.” And goddamn was the guy’s voice deep. Dean blinked a little dumbly, wondering who the hell was named ‘Castiel’ without being an obvious nutball. As if he had room to talk, he’d dated a girl who had changed her name to ‘Patchouli’ for god’s sake.  
  
Only when Castiel’s pierced brow quirked expectantly did Dean extract his head from his ass and speak. “Right, Sam recced you. I’m Dean, that’s Charlie over there on guitar, Jo on bass, and Kevin over there on the keys and tech. Kits over there, so, knock yourself out I guess.” Call him jaded at this point, but they’d been going through drummers like he went through condoms, and he was getting sick of it. Why Sammy had waited until they’d been fucking _signed_ he would never know, but they were in a bind, and until they could find someone that gelled, they were up shit creek.  
  
A small smirk spread across Castiel’s lips that Dean almost called him on, but he decided to give the guy a pass on the technicality that maybe Dean hadn’t been the friendliest either. He slung his guitar over his shoulder and plugged himself in, back-glancing to see everyone else finish setting up. Castiel settled at one of Sam’s old kits, running his fingers briefly against it like some kind of drum-whisperer. Dean hid a smirk of his own as Castiel drew out a pair of drumsticks from the folds of his too-big coat, a flash of a heavily-tattooed neckline glimpsed at the part of the jacket.

The sound of papers rustling behind him least let Dean know the guy could read sheet music, which came as a relief. The second guy swore he could play by ear alone if they showed him first, but that had been about as trustworthy as the guy’s drug habit. Dean could take dipping into something extra uplifting or relaxing every occasionally, but when the man had been sagging listlessly in his seat, they knew it was time to call it.

“Start with page five, ‘Treeline’ should be fine.” He’d start with an easier song for this ‘Castiel’ to read to see where the man’s skills lie. It was one of the first songs he’d written, and his brother could play it in his sleep, nothing too complex, but enough that Dean would be able to hear a fumble.  
  
After checking to see if everyone was good to go, Dean started playing, voice lifting over the sound of his guitar. The slow rise of the first few bars began, his voice carrying a growing croon that rolled over the thick hum of Jo’s bass in a wave. It wasn’t until the second loop of the chorus that Dean knew something was off. The steady rhythmic pounding of the drums had changed, shifting into something a little more staccato against Kevin’s keys. His first instinct was to cut off the song and end it there, but he couldn’t say it sounded _bad_.

Behind him Castiel’s hands flicked his sticks at his fingertips, pulsing a new thread into the song that wove and danced against Kevin’s playing. It blended seamlessly into the sound of the guitars and bass, another breath of wind instead of the steady support that usually stayed consistent within the hard ballad.  
  
“… _Now I’m left watchin’, watchin’ the Treeline.”_ Dean’s voice swelled in the ending line, and behind him Castiel’s playing wound around the lyrics, punching against the story to bring home the bitterness carried within the lyrics.

 As soon as the ending notes faded from their ears, Dean whirled around and pinned Castiel with a hot stare. “What the hell man? You changed the arrangement!” Charlie was shifting nervously on her Chuck-Taylors next to him like she wanted to say something, but he held his frustrated gaze with the drummer.

 Castiel rested his sticks against the top of his thighs, his bored expression never shifting even in the face of Dean’s glare. “The original was stilted.” He commented offhandedly as if he didn’t just insult one of Dean’s brainchildren.

Had it been any other song, Dean might have given him a pass, but this one meant a little more to him than he cared to admit. He’d written it young and angry, pouring bittersweet words onto a notebook that dripped with a quiet resentment towards a man who he wasn’t sure was alive or dead at this point. John Winchester hadn’t spared his kids any mind in longer than Dean cared to remember.  
  
“Dean…come on, you know that was pretty bangin’.” Charlie piped up, shooting Castiel a bright smile that he in no way returned.

“Bangin’ Charlie, Bangin’?” Dean shot Charlie his best ‘Et Tu Brute?’ pout, tugging his guitar back up into his hands a little more forcefully than necessary.  
  
“Whatever, page 3, ‘Kansas Nights’.” He snipped, squaring his shoulders as he began to strum the intro of the next song. One a little more complicated in the arrangement, but with less ‘emotion’ for Castiel to shit all over.

Dean’s fingers started up on the beginning introduction, and slowly the other layers of the band began to fold into mix. The plucky, if not a little twangy rhythm of the song was always one of his favorites to play when the small crowds they drummed up got into it. Little whoops and ‘woos’ sounding in the standing rooms as their fingers picked over strings, or he winked at a cute girl that had shoved herself to the front, cheap beer in her hands and promise in her eyes.

By the end of the song, Dean’s heart rate had picked up, and there was an overwhelming sensation of satisfaction with the way the song had gone. Charlie and Kevin were still a little out of it, he could hear it, but Jo was on track. More importantly, Castiel had picked up the beat without issue and had played it effortlessly, even in all his weird layers.

He hated to admit it, but Dean wanted to play another. No other drummer had managed to elicit that out of him yet, and he had a sinking feeling that this guy was going to be their fifth member whether he personally liked him or not.  
  
“Page eleven.” He barely gave them enough time to get shifted before he began. Three more songs went by, and by the time they’d ended the fifth, there was no denying it.

Charlie slumped against Kevin with a small whine, “Okay, Uncle! Goddammit, Dean, I want to puke into my shoes, and you decide to run us through half the sheets?” She groaned dramatically, shooting her biggest doe-eyes she could manage. “Can I go have more coffee now?”  


No matter how much he didn’t want to call it, Dean knew he was being ridiculous. Castiel was good. Damn good. It felt comfortable and easy having him back on there on Sam’s old kit, and Dean almost didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t _want_ to find someone that could gel so easily as his brother had. He missed Sam being back there. It was selfish of him, he knew it, but he’d always prefer having his brother at his back then some stranger.

“Yeah Charlie, go make out with the coffee pot.” He grumbled, tugging off his guitar strap so he could turn towards the man sitting a few paces wordlessly from him. “So, you-..Cast-, Cast-eal? Fuck it, Cas.” The name felt weird and clumsy on his tongue. He was used to ‘normal’ names and this guy’s oddly biblical felt like a foreign language to him.” You’re good, “ There, he could say that much.” How do you know Sammy?” That was the most pressing question as far as Dean was concerned.

Castiel tucked his drumsticks back into the folds of his coat and stood with a small shrug. “Bought a kit off him a few years back, stayed in touch.” The explanation was a minimal one, but one Dean accepted. Sam was an easy-going guy and prone to making friends, it was easy for him to imagine meeting someone for a simple sale and making a friend of it. He just couldn’t imagine what this kind of guy would talk about with his brother, but maybe he was too quick to judge.

 Dean combed his fingers through hair and took a quick scan of the room, finding the other’s expectant eyes on him. That answered that then. Everyone looked more on board with this than he was, but he couldn’t find a reason _not_ to give Castiel a trial run. “If you want it, we’re good to try it out.” He lowered his hand, holding it out for the new-comer to shake.

He might have imagined it, but a small spark of surprise flared in Castiel’s eyes as if he’d been expecting him to say, ‘take a hike.' “Yeah, That’s fine. Just give me a copy of the schedule, and I will adjust mine accordingly.” Dean quirked his brow at Castiel’s choice of words, quietly amused that a man that looked as disheveled and pierced as he was, talked like an accountant.

 They broke for a break, and Dean walked off to the ancient computer to retrieve the synced-copy of the calendar Bobby suggested they use to keep track of their schedules. They all worked odd-jobs between gigs, and even with the whispers of a small tour in the works they still had to pay rent. They were meeting up regularly enough to practice and get some recording time in, but it was still stressful to juggle. He was pulling nightshifts as a bartender himself at a bar spitting-distance from his shitty little apartment, but it was working out well enough.

Behind him, he could hear Charlie and Kevin immediately engage the new guy.

“I really liked the way you changed up ‘Treeline,' you just winged that?” Charlie was perking up now that she was guzzling down another cup of coffee. The traitor.

Castiel cast a small look towards Dean that he only caught from a glance of his own while he clicked ‘print.'” Yes. Sometimes I do it without thinking if it is inappropriate I apologize.” And there he went again with that accountant-talk. Did he always talk like that?

Dean shook his head as he turned around, and heaved a small sigh.” No, it’s fine I guess, just took me off guard. I’m not used to people changing up my songs.” While if he looked at it from a purely detached standpoint, the song had sounded better. While more chaotic, it had been harder hitting and punctuated the sour taste the lyrics always left on his tongue. It just grated him that those were _his_ notes Castiel had changed around, and worse, he’d improved them effortlessly. Was he being a brat about it? Sure, but his ego had been bruised, and he wasn’t good at dealing with it. No one could ever tell him he didn’t know his flaws, even if he never actively worked to improve on them.

Hesitation crinkled Castiel’s brows, causing the small black cross charm he wore on the corner of his left brow piercing to sway in the movement. “Do you not do collaborations?” Dean knew a judgment tone when he heard it, and that had ‘Are you a jackass band dictator?’ all over it.  
  
A faint rouge bloomed over Dean’s freckled cheeks, and he puffed while grabbing the freshly printed schedule. “Well yeah, of course, I do. Charlie wrote a fuck-ton of those songs too. What I mean is not used to people changing them, _while I’m singing them_.” He corrected with a small scoff, wondering if this guy was always such a stickler for semantics. Now he was beginning to understand how Sammy and the new drummer could get along; they were both insufferably fussy.

This seemed to ease the look of ‘bristled-cat’ off Castiel, and he relaxed lightly with a small hum. “In the future, I will endeavor to suggest a change after the song ends then.” Behind Castiel, Jo faintly quirked her brow and jerked her thumb in his direction in Dean’s line of sight.

Biting back a small snort of amusement, Dean pressed his lips together in a passive smile. “Good enough for me. You got your own kit, or do you want to use that one?”

“I’ll bring my own on-“ Castiel took a moment to look over the schedule, “Thursday.” Neatly he folded the schedule and tucked it away in one of the many pockets on the inside of the jacket, providing another glimpse of what lurked beneath what Dean was already starting to dub ‘the khaki horror’ in his head. The ‘Depeche Mode’ shirt wasn’t that much of a shocker, but the licks of black ink crawling up the collar had his attention. He’d spied a few weird looking scrawling symbols whenever Castiel turned his head, but he couldn’t tell what the tattoos on his neck were supposed to mean.

“I’ll be here to help you unload it.” He was usually the first one here anyway, and he figured he needed to get Sam’s old kit into storage anyway. He didn’t understand the return of surprise either on the drummer’s face. Had he really been acting catty enough for Castiel to think someone wouldn’t help him set up? “It’s no problem,” He added before Castiel had a chance to brush it off. Dean figured if he wanted to keep a drummer on the roster, he needed to start making an effort. They were never going to get on tour if they kept treating drummers like used tissues.

Castiel’s head bobbed, and Dean’s eyes twitched back to the little charm. “Alright. I will email my schedule. I have to get to work, and I’ll be here Thursday.” Castiel spared another small nod to the rest of the group before he left, leaving Dean a little at a loss for words.

He’d wanted a drummer that was a good fit for the band. While Castiel was a decent drummer from what he’d heard, Dean didn’t know if he would personally ‘gel’ with the rest of them. Only time would tell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thursday rolled around, and Dean busied himself with breaking down the old kit to store away. He sat on the cool floor, grunting softly as he wrestled with a stubborn joint in the floor-tom stand. The joint creaked and wiggled free, and Dean was able to collapse it down, so he could separate the pieces. A small splash of blue against one of the cymbal stands caught his eye; an ugly little cartoon dog sticker stuck against the weathered metal. It had come from one of those twenty-five scent vending machines marketed to kids and drunken idiots, the latter being exactly what lead to the purchase while stumbling out of a greasy diner.

It had been a good night. They’d had a turn out big enough to make some money for once, and the little leap forward had felt undeniably good. Spending the profits immediately on getting shit-faced hadn’t been their wisest move, but it had been a memory and a half. Dean still had the scar over his eyebrow from getting up-close and personal with the stairs at their old apartment complex just trying to make it home.

The door opened, and Castiel shuffled inside, a chunky, out-of-date phone pressed to one ear. “Yeah, Gabriel. I know the risks. Don’t worry about over it, I’ve got it handled. Say hello to Kali for me.” He huffed a deep breath as he jammed his phone on ‘end,' and the paperweight was tucked away in the folds of the still-present khaki jacket.

Castiel stopped a few paces from the door, blinking down at Dean on the floor. “Hello Dean, do-, you need assistance?” He must look more frustrated that he thought if Castiel was appraising him this early.

“Yeah if you don’t mind, I’d just store it as-is, but I figure I might as well break it down and get it cleaned up.” Just in case Sam ever wanted it again. Dean knew Sam still had his other set up with him, but this one felt special. It was worn and probably needed to be retired, but looking at it reminded Dean of how far they’d already come. They were still nobodies, but at least they were _signed_ nobodies now. If they could get their shit together, they’d get a proper schedule together, and could hit the road. Crowley was an eel of a man, but his business sense was razor sharp. Dean might not like him as a person, but he at least trusted the man to get them where they wanted to be.

 Castiel fell into place wordless next to him, moving with a deft ease. With Castiel’s help, they made quick work of it and left the kit in a neat pile for Dean to attend to later when he had the chance.

“Thanks, meant to have that done before you got here but if wishes were fishes right?” Dean smirked, wiping his hands off on his dark green tank.

 “I- I don’t understand. Why would wishes be fishes?” Dean didn’t expect the crinkle-eyed look Castiel was giving him. Was this guy serious?

Dean chuckled,” Are you serious? Come on, that’s like, old grandpa sayings one-oh-one. ‘If wishes were fishes we’d all swim in riches,' or, something like that. Like,  Wishes are useless?” Castiel was still looking at him dubiously.

Castiel’s brows smoothed a little, but his lips were still faintly pursed.” I suppose that is a strange turn of phrase. I’ve never heard it before.” Which, Dean granted, wasn’t all that odd but the look on Castiel’s face still struck him as overboard.

“Don’t slip a shoe up there trying to puzzle it out. Let’s get your set up.” He went to the couch to snatch up his black jacket and sling it over himself, waiting for Castiel to lead on. The man was hesitating, bright eyes flickering with indecision. Whatever inner struggle Castiel was having with himself ended, and he turned to back towards the door to lead them outside and around the building.

Castiel drove what had to be the ugliest Jeep Cherokee Dean had ever seen. It was squat, rusted at pointed, and the matte yellow of it was an affront to his eyes. The drummer’s kit was crammed in the back, along with a sea of beaten up paperbacks and a sack of empty soda cans. Reaching in after Cas had popped the back, Dean plucked up one of the weathered paperbacks with a small smirk. “Doorstep baby? You read Mommy-dramas Cas?” He snickered, delight deepening at the pink tones that jumped to the smaller man’s cheeks as he snatched the book back.

“I buy them in bulk at the resell-bookstore. I don’t care what they’re about.” Castiel snipped, chucking the book back into the haphazard pile and reaching for his first cymbal stand.

Dean reached for another, flipping the book around to peer at the synopsis. “You sure you don’t read it for- ‘The most erotic, passion-filled adventure of the year.’ So, says the Daily-Reader.” Castiel was getting pissed, and Dean knew it, but this was gold. “Or- ‘It will have you swooning from the first page to the last.' Swooning, Cas, _swooning_ \- Hey!-“ He huffed when Castiel yanked this one away as well, “-Lighten up, I was just teasing. That’s fucking hilarious.”

The glare that was directed his way could have melted ice. “I’m glad my pass-times are so amusing to you.” Castiel’s tone was unnecessarily combative in Dean’s opinion.

Dean’s hackles had risen, “Take the stick outta your ass man. It was a joke.” He shoved the snare-drum under his arm and tugged out the stool as well. With Castiel’s arms laden with the cymbals and the bass drum pedal, Dean bumped the side-opening trunk door with his hip to close it.

“Stick-? Why does my choice of reading material merit ridicule? What do _you_ read?”

Dean’s lips pursed, sniffing in quiet irritation as they shuffled their way back into the building. “I read! Sometimes, when I have time.” Granted, it felt like years since the last time he’d settled his ass on his couch and cracked open a book instead of flipping on the television, but he didn’t like the tone Castiel asked him that! It was like he was _expecting_ Dean not to read.

A small snort rose from the slightly shorter man as they made their awkward way up the short flight of steps to their designated practice space. Castiel didn’t continue the argument, but Dean could just _hear_ the snide remarks the man’s face was broadcasting. The little shit must think he was better than him! Which was laughable, considering both were likely to be looked at like scum of society, **especially** Castiel. From what Dean could see he was covered in ink, and he had more visible piercings than Dean did. Just because he talked like he went to private school, didn’t mean shit as far as Dean was concerned. They were both in a struggling rock band, hauling wind-chilled drum equipment into the cramped practice space all the same.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion his first impression had been the correct one, and the weeks that followed their first real interactions didn’t sway his opinion at all. Castiel didn’t talk often, but when he did it was usually to offer ‘suggestions,' or not talk to him at all. He had no problem talking with Charlie or Kevin, but for some reason, he tended to steer clear of himself and Jo. Not that Jo minded, the girl’s opinions usually ran close to Dean’s own, and she’d decided Castiel was an odd duck from the start.

He’d give Castiel one thing, and that was they felt like a band again. It was easy to write and record with the man’s addition, and they were all getting into form with a zealousness they hadn’t felt in months. For the first time since Sam left, Dean thought that maybe they had a shot at this. Crowley was pleased enough with what they were churning out, and the rumored tour was looking like it was going to become a reality faster than Dean had expected. Bobby had set up a handful of decent gigs, and they were running themselves to death balancing work, practice, and gearing up for the shows, but Dean felt it. The rush of making music was back, and he itched to be in front of a crowd again.

If only they could all get along so well away from the mics as they did behind them.


	2. Sweet Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't figure Castiel out. He barely talked, booked it from rehearsals, and was generally one of the most antisocial people Dean had ever seen. Charlie was keeping up the new-guy welcome wagon when everyone else petered out, but as long as they still sounded like marketable gold Dean told himself he was A-okay with Castiel's attitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I struggled with this chapter because I'm itching to get to the next one and I have /zero/ patience!

The venue was bigger than the cramped places they were used to playing. People were leaning on the island bar, beers in their hands and looking for a good time. The place had more faces than Dean was ever used to seeing when he looked out from the stage, a flutter of nerves pooling fast in his stomach.

“So, this is what it’s like to actually have an audience huh?” Kevin snorted softly behind him as he checked the panel wiring before the show.  
  
“Don’t let the fame go to your head kid.” Dean snickered soft as he reached to thump the smaller man on the shoulder. He turned to survey the group, smirk deepening at the turbulent look of excited anxiety on Charlie’s face, and the failed attempt at neutrality out of Jo. Dean knew her better than that, and this was as close to Jo pissing herself as he’d seen her since the first time they’d stepped in front of two people, let alone a standing room.  
  
And then there was Cas.

The jackass was quietly flipping through a paperback after making sure his kit was solid, a goddamn book-light clipped to the back cover, so he could see in the dim lighting of the backstage. At least he didn’t have that jacket on, and Dean would take the win, however small.

 In the weeks he’d known the man, Dean had come to realize Castiel had little to no intent on ‘bonding’ the way the rest of them did. He didn’t come out drinking with them, or crash at Kevin’s for pizza and Star-wars nights. Nothing. He showed up to practice, did his thing, and went home. Dean had never seen a more unsociable person, and it was beginning to wear on him. Still, he couldn’t exactly go off on the guy just because he didn’t play well with the other kids. They sounded _good_. Good enough that they had managed to get a few more venues lined up, and a pretty full house after their last show a couple of days ago at a smaller place. If the new drummer didn’t want to hold hands and make friends, fine, no skin off his nose. But he sure as hell could be nicer about it.

 They stepped on stage and plucked up their instruments, and the flutter of butterflies in his stomach dulled. The lights were hot on their skin, but Dean didn’t mind. It felt like home.

Dean reached to grip the microphone and do his usual introduction, flashing his pearly whites and grinning at anything buxom in his general vicinity. It was easy for him to play up his charm and preen a little for the crowd. He wasn’t so self-depreciating that he didn’t know he had the looks to flaunt a little to his advantage, even if they had been a sticking point for him when he was younger. Too many comments about his pouty mouth and his bowed legs had threatened to put a chip on his shoulder until Charlie suggested he use what she called his ‘Primetime Tv’ looks to good use and strut a little to draw a crowd. Which was probably the same mindset that had let her to wear the Legend of Zelda crop-top she was sporting with her torn jeans. The others always took a more modest approach, but Jo said she was happy to let Charlie and Dean be the razzle-dazzle.  
  
“-But that’s enough of me talking, let’s get to it.” Dean motioned behind him, and Kevin started in on ‘Maybe days’, leading off with one of Charlie’s songs. It was always a good one to get the crowd worked up because no one could resist the chorus where Charlie took the lead on vocals and bobbed and hopped to the music, the deep rumble of her bass a contrast to her sharper voice.

_‘You’re maybe is no good to me_

_It’s not like you’re the only one_

_By the time you make up your mind_

_I’ll be on the next ride_

_No one has time for your Maybe Days_

_Maybe Days.’_

Charlie’s red waves bounced around her head, pulling a grin from Dean as his hands sped over his guitar into a sweeping lick. He could even see a small smile threaten on Castiel’s lips as he turned to sweep his eyes around the stage before picking back up into the main vocals. Charlie was the only one that regularly pulled anything but one-word answers out of Castiel, no one in their right mind could do otherwise. Charlie was the sunshine of the group to Dean, no contest.

 

The set was longer than what they’d normally play, and by the end of it Dean felt coated in sweat, and Charlie had lost a little of her pep. One thing was for sure if they wanted to keep up momentum throughout the shows they needed to either lay off the cigarettes or start going to a gym instead of so many damn pizza-nights. Even with the burn in his muscles, Dean felt like he was on cloud nine with the cheers as they filed off backstage to fall headlong into water bottles and sweat-towels.  
  
“Goddamn, that felt good.” Dean breathed with a soft, husky chuckle, voice worn from the night. He moped a towel over his forehead and back through his damp hair with a grateful sigh, rolling his shoulder where the guitar strap had started to dig in the more intense songs.  
  
Jo hummed in agreement while she tossed her now-empty bottle in the trash, “I could get used to shows like that.”

Charlie sidled up and bumped Dean with her hip, flashing her pearly whites and waggling her fingers in his face. “I got blisters on these fingers!” She snickered in her best Ringo impersonation.  
  
Chuckling behind her, Kevin wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his weathered band-T. “Shouldn’t that be Castiel’s line?” He pointed out with a small snort, looking over at the drummer who was busy pressing a cloth to his sweat-slick neck.

 Castiel glanced up, seeing the other’s eyes fix on him, waiting for his input on the set. Rarely did all of them try and draw out conversation from him at once, and Dean could see him squirm under the scrutiny. Did Cas really not want to engage with them so much?

“Bigger turn out than I thought there would be,” Castiel admitted, and Charlie beamed, quite content that he’d said a full sentence in the presence of all of them for once. She swore she’d get him to open up; she’d already announced it as a personal goal to the band at a pizza night. Jo and Dean agreed when they wondered why she was bothering, and Kevin earned himself a punch to the shoulder for voicing appreciation for a _quiet_ bandmate for once.

 “Word must be getting around.” Dean preened, tugging his sweaty shirt from his chest in small pulls. “Alright, I’m starvin’, Benny’s is around the corner, and I’d punch a nun for one of those weird little doughnuts.” They started with a ‘B’, but he always wanted to say Bengay which was definitely _not_ a doughnut covered in powdered sugar.

Part of him would never understand a man with a voice like Benny’s taking a hard left and opening the best damn dive diner in the state, or in Dean’s humble opinion, in all the states, but then again, he supposed you couldn’t put a price on a man’s happiness. On some nights he could still cajole the older man into breaking out his guitar and strumming a few, and they were all content to sit back, tap their toes and nurse their beers till dawn threatened.

“Damn, making it hard on me. I wanted that girl’s digits that was shimmying by the speakers but, a patty melt with those crispy onion straws on it _might_ actually sound better than-“Charlie trailed under Jo’s withering stare, a small snort of put-upon disgust bubbling from the blonde’s throat. Jo rolled her eyes frequently at both Dean and Charlie’s extracurricular activities, but like most of her outward personality, Dean knew to call her bullshit. As if she didn’t get her flirt on behind everyone’s back. There were enough walks of shame to go around in the group, that was for sure.

“You coming Castiel? It might kill you later, but Benny’s is the best.” Kevin ventured, earning yet another wide look from the drummer.

“No thank you.” He stated simply as if Dean had expected anything different. At this point, Castiel accepting might have made them clutch their pearls in shock.

Sighing, Dean decided to bite the bullet and address the elephant in the room.” We got cooties or something?” Yeah, he could have asked that better, but when had he ever had a delicate touch?  
  
This at least got a rise out of Castiel’s expression, dark brows raising into the edge of his knit hat he’d slipped on a few minutes prior, no doubt readying himself to book it. “I’m...not one for revelry.” The reply got yet another snort out of Jo, and an eye-roll from Dean.   _Revelry_? Really? Why not just say ‘I’m an antisocial twat’ and be done with it?

“It’s not ‘revelry’, it’s sandwiches.” Came Dean’s curt reply, annoyed to the core that Castiel kept backing down from going out with the group.

“Geez Dean, if he doesn’t want to hang he doesn’t want to hang.” Jo piped up with a small twist to her barely glossed lips, “Let him go back to…reading.” There was a barely-there smirk in her expression, one that said she was trying to be vaguely civil, but even she was quietly annoyed by Castiel’s constant refusals.  
  
Castiel’s lips pressed, it was a look that Dean was starting to refer as his ‘What’d you just say?’ Expression. He’d seen variations of it whenever the band talked at length, either a brow quirk with it to denote his withering chagrin, or the furrowing of them to say he was grossly displeased with something. The guy might not talk a lot, but he was emotive. Not that Dean was studying his face or anything, he could be observant some time, especially with the new guy without it being _weird_.

 

“I’ll be at rehearsal,” Castiel mumbled. Not a ‘See you later’, or ‘Have fun’, but then again, Castiel _never_ said things like that. Dean had to wonder what sort of upbringing Castiel had to be so socially stunted. He was no charmer himself without cranking it up to eleven, but he at least knew the basics how interactions were supposed to go.

Still, Kevin helped Cas get his kit to his ugly jeep, and they all shared a collective look of chagrin once the drummer was gone.

“Maybe he’s like one of those shelter dogs. Just gotta keep giving ‘im treats and patting his head and maybe he’ll shake one day.” Charlie slung her bass over her shoulder and hefted one of the amps.

Smirking, Dean loaded his arms up with gear to waddle out to Jo’s truck.” Oh yeah? Let me know how that works out for you, Red.” As far as Dean was concerned, Castiel had refused one too many times, and he was done trying. He could play with the man, but obviously, friends were off the table.

 

 

* * *

 

God, it was fucking hot at the latest venue. Dean had played a number of dives and small concert halls that barely fit twenty people, but none of them had made him feel quite so drenched as the ‘Purgatory’ bar and nightclub did. It was pretty cool outside, but it was stiflingly warm inside even when not dancing or singing. Maybe it was a concept thing, Dean didn’t know, but he had noticed that the patrons were wearing considerably less clothing than what he would expect out of the chilly November night.

They’d learned a few gigs in that if they were going to play longer shows and want to mingle after, bringing a spare shirt was wise if they wanted to score afterwards. Dean tugged dolefully at his favourite grey Henley that clung to him in all the right places. He’d soaked it through with sweat, and even body spray couldn’t save him from the pit-funk he’d worked up in it. He needed to peel it off stat.

With a small sigh, he pushed open the door to a backroom the owner of the club offered them to use to change and store bags in until the end of the show. Movement caught his eyes, and he glanced over to the right in the storeroom stacked and cluttered with random barstools and boxes.

He’d expected a band member or two to be in there already trying to dislodge their sweaty clothes from sticking to their bodies, but for some reason, it never crossed his mind that Castiel might be one of them.

And _holy shit_ he hadn’t expected any of what he was seeing.

Castiel had shrugged out of the slouchy, oversized black shirt he’d been wearing. His jeans were surprisingly low on his hips, revealing the band of aubergine and navy boxer briefs. It was all the skin visible that distracted Dean because no part of it could he describe as ‘bare’.

He’d known Cas had tattoos, but he hadn’t realized how _many_. They were everywhere. From the folded, gnarled hands sporting a rosary with an upside cross, to the weird scrawling characters that spanned almost the entirety of his right side. There were frayed grey wings sprawled over the man’s back, inked heavily and masterfully done. Bees and honeycomb on his forearms, other insects dotted here and there over his body. The raised scars that made another strange symbol on Castiel’s upper arms scrunched his nose slightly. He’d never seen anyone with scarification before. The idea of it made him squirm uncomfortably, too much like branding cattle for him.

The piercings weren’t all that surprising, but he’d never pegged Castiel to be a nipple-ring kind of guy. He’d seen the tongue ring when the man talked, but for some reason, he hadn’t expected anything else that could fall into the realm of ‘kinky’ from a man that read dime romance novels just because they were cheap.  
  
There was so much Dean didn’t know where to look, and only when Castiel looked up from his backpack to get out a spare shirt, did the other man notice Dean was there.

“Jeez Cas who knew-“

“Get out.”

Dean’s flippant comment died on his lips. Castiel hadn’t suggested or even snipped at him. Castiel had _ordered_ him to leave in a tone that left no room for his usual brand of shit talk. It took him off guard enough that he back-pedalled and did just that, shutting the door behind him hard enough to rattle the cheap particle board.

“..O..kay?” Dean blinked, trying to process what had just happened. Castiel had looked at him like- Dean didn’t even know how to describe it. A mixture of mortification and loathing tinged with a wild look of near-panic that had Dean’s stomach souring. He felt like he’d done something wrong and all he’d done was see Castiel with his shirt off! Big deal! Dean gotten practically naked in front of the band members more often than once, especially if there was booze involved.

Dean stood with the same perplexed expression over his freckled face until he heard the door behind him open, and Castiel brushed by him in his fresh shirt, ugly jacket, and his backpack. No doubt he was going to load up his drumkit and book it yet again; And for once Dean wasn’t going to give him shit over it. After that weird interaction, Dean was more than ready to let Castiel have his space.

Except that Dean was more than just a little curious what all those bizarre tattoos had been. Was Castiel a Satanist or something equally out there? Dean didn’t think it was likely, he’d met quite a few of those guys around, and they were generally alright, like most religions, everyone had their fruit loops that ruined things for the whole bunch. Maybe Castiel just liked the shock-value of them, but even that didn’t ring true because of how out of the way Castiel went to hide them. So far, Dean had seen Castiel’s arm ink alone, and the peeking hints of the wings and other tattoos on the man’s neck. He’d been unaware that Castiel barely had any spare olive skin left on his chest and back. He didn’t even know why it mattered! Everyone in the band had tattoos, piercing, and a whole host of other shit on them. It just came with the lifestyle, but for some reason, he found himself a little transfixed on the memory of Castiel’s body. It had just been so _unexpected_.  
  
Trying to rouse himself from lingering on Castiel’s body longer than he could claim innocent, Dean ducked back into the room to change, intent on hitting the bar to drown out the peculiar flip-flop that heaved his stomach every time he tried to puzzle the odd man out. No matter how much he told himself he didn’t give a shit about Castiel or his damage, his mind still strayed back to the quirky drummer time and time again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if anyone wants to follow my tumblr for updates, news on other stories, etc go to : http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/


	3. We're an American Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up and Dean is looking forward to really stretching his legs as an artist more than they've ever been allowed. This was all new and exciting, but things aren't as bright and carefree as he would have wished. No matter how much he's tried, he can't bridge the gap between him and his new drummer, and he's starting to think he doesn't want to.
> 
> The tour makes him see Castiel in a new light, and he can't say he's seeing anything he'd ever wanted to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up for warnings in this chapter! homophobic thoughts, drug references, and alcohol abuse ahead. 
> 
> Thanks to all following and leaving comments! They give me motivation<3

The months following the regular gigs had been amazing, if not scattered. They were getting more steady work as a band than ever before, so much that Dean had been able to shift to part-time bartending rather than juggling a full-time job, band practice, and gigs. Not that it mattered much anymore because, after Crowley’s latest announcement, he was going to be taking a few weeks off for the first time in longer than he cared to remember.

When the short, scruffy looking guy came striding into band practice, one-night Dean had almost forgotten who he was. It wasn’t until he smirked over at Bobby with a smarmy leer that he remembered the man to be the owner of the damn label. Who went around in a three-piece suit these days? He looked as slimy as Bobby had griped before, but the little half-grin on his lips had been at least promising. When he announced he’d worked with Bobby to get them as an opening act for a bigger named band a few years their senior, Dean had almost pissed himself.

A _tour_. It was only six shows, but that was six more shows than they had ever done _on tour_. This meant solid sales since they had finally gotten a physical copy of their music pushed out last week. Dean realized the whip that had been cracked in their direction lately by their manager must have been because Bobby was negotiating with Crowley the entire time and not telling them. He couldn’t find it in him to grouse, not when they were about to embark on the time-honoured tradition of tour buses and a cross-country hellscape that Dean had never been more excited to endure.

That night had called for a celebration, and Dean didn’t give a shit what anyone else was going he demanded they show up. For once they’d been cut a damn good deal, and he was taking it without hesitation. Charlie had nearly tackled Castiel as he tried to sneak out the back. Not even Castiel was going to be exempt from this one, even if Dean had to tie him to a chair he was making sure the drummer parked his ass and at least had one drink to toast to their futures.

 

Which was how Dean found himself staring at a very morose looking man slouched in a back booth of Benny’s diner, inked hand wrapped around a beer he hadn’t yet touched.

“What’s the look for brother?” Benny’s heavily accented Louisianan twang drew him out of his chagrin, and Dean knocked back the rest of his beer.

“I don’t get it. Look at him; I don’t get how that kind of guy is into music!” Dean huffed, gesturing vaguely to the corner as he leaned against the counter to look at his long-time friend. Benny was a good looking guy, objectively, of course, the kind of guy other guys wanted to be or at least know. Benny had been there for him during his less than ideal teenage years, a solid anchor while Dean had been left to fend for himself and his baby brother way too soon. He’d worked his ass off before he had been legally allowed to hold a job that wasn’t under the table.

Benny paused the worn cloth against the counter to mop up an errant spill, considering the man in the back. “You think maybe he just doesn’t like all this jazz, brother?” He hummed, quietly amused that Dean was so outraged over a little antisocial behaviour.

Dean’s lips had pursed hard enough to sting,” All ‘this jazz’ is kind of part of it! What’s the point of being in a band with a bunch of awesome people if you can’t have _fun_?” He couldn’t see why anyone would just want to show up, play drums like they’re possessed then haul ass out of there. He didn’t even know what side of town Castiel lived on for christ’s sake!

“You think you just don’t like that..well, he ain’t Sam by any stretch of the imagination.” Dean heard Benny, he did, he’d considered it and begrudgingly admitted that _maybe_ that was a part of it, but he wasn’t about to sit here and play therapy when he was supposed to be toasting!

Dean accepted the new beer with an acidic smile, “Okay, _Freud_ , I get it.” He was going to ignore the indulgent eyeroll the older man was giving him as he pushed off the counter and made towards the back wall.

“Not a beer guy?” This was going to be his umpteenth time trying to engage Castiel, but dammit he wanted _everyone_ to have dopey drunk smiles by the end of this or else he felt like it was bad luck.

Castiel looked up from his untouched beer, the crease pulling at his brows lessening a notch. “I don’t really drink.” He supplied gruffly, lacking the usual details Dean had come to expect out of him by now.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Dean deposited himself opposite of Castiel in the booth; fingers loosely gripped around the neck of his beer. It was a little classier than the swill he usually drank, ‘crafted’ and ‘microbrewery’ were words not usually associated with what he poured down his throat but tonight was special.

The pinched look returned, and Castiel shifted in his seat like he was trying to get comfortable on a bed of nails.”I just don’t.” Dean should have expected that answer, but even though he’d come to have little hope of bonding with his damn drummer, it still grated him.

“Gee Cas, don’t get out of breath on all those details.” The roll of his eyes soured Castiel’s face. Further, a look that would be downright hilarious on anyone Dean didn’t want to have at least a civil relationship with.

“I came under the threat of you and Charlie-, what was it? ‘Lassoing me and dragging me’ here. I’ve fulfilled the requirements, can I go? I still have things to arrange before we depart for the tour.” It had to of been the longest sentence he’d heard out of Castiel in weeks, but Dean wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

Dean held up a finger to wag it under Castiel’s nose, a shit-eating-grin blooming over his supple lips. “No way, the conditions were to come have a drink with us and have fun. I can see the fun part is a lost cause, but come on. One beer isn’t going to kill you, man.” He hoped not, Dean would feel like an asshole if Castiel ended up being one of those people violently allergic to alcohol or hops.

The beer sat between them, a wall between Castiel and the door. He could see the wheels of determination turning in Castiel’s head over the twangy music of the bar, weighing his options.

“Fine.” Castiel picked up the beer and knocked it back with long pulls. The amber liquid disappeared in an impressive feat of muscle control in Dean’s opinion. The audible gulps were about as hilarious to the already buzzed lead as the sheer focus written over Castiel’s face. He acted like Dean was making him chug spoiled milk!

 The hard thump of the beer bottle was punctuated by a deep breath, and Castiel’s too-blue eyes levelled at him with the ‘duel’ won. “I’ll be going now, goodnight.” The brief amusement one-eightied right back to annoyance as Castiel stood, zipping up his ugly jacket and tugging out a worn knit hat from his pocket to tug over his head with a little more force than necessary.

 “What ever man, fine. Go organize your doilies or what ever is so damn pressing.” Dean swore he wasn’t usually this much of a brat to people regularly, but Castiel grated him for reasons he wasn’t willing to analyze. What was so hard about chilling with the people you worked and played with? He was pretty sure bands that had feuds among themselves always ended up shitting out fast or dragging it up onto the stage, and Dean sure as hell didn’t want to be one of those asshats cussing at his drummer mid-set.

It looked like he might have gotten a genuine reaction out of Castiel the way he paused, angling his gaze back towards Dean with a look that could have melted the icecaps. There were volumes of words written in that look, none of them favourable, but at least he would be getting _something_ out of Castiel for once. Whatever torrent that had been brewing on Castiel’s tongue died, and with a dismissive grunt, he turned to stalk out of the bar.

Worse still, he paused long enough to gently tap Charlie on the arm and thank her for dragging him out and bid her a safe trip home and goodnight.

Scowling, Dean returned to his fourth beer with renewed vigour. “Asshole.”

 

 

* * *

 

A tour bus was about as god awful as Dean had expected, but it felt familiar. There had been times in his teenage years with Sam that there hadn’t been anywhere to go, and that had been the days where he’d been too ashamed of John Winchester to go to Bobby, so they had spent weeks living out of his car. Sam had been barely thirteen at the time, but he’d still weathered it all like a champ. Hell, he probably bitched less about it than Dean, which had only made him more determined to do _better_. There weren’t many jobs a drop out could do so young, but he’d done his best, and the nights spent in the car had grown fewer and farther apart.

Those times were worlds apart from the jostled drive he was experiencing now, eyes closed as he listened to the quiet bickering from the back.

“You can be a fan of both now Kevin! It’s allowed!” Charlie’s voice was getting progressively more annoyed with the hushed conversation, even though only Jo was managing to sleep, she’d passed out cold with her hand wrapped around a bottle of Jack ages ago. She wasn’t used to being so far away from her mother; something Dean knew better than to tease her about at this point even if it was ridiculously endearing. Ellen Harville was a woman people had the _privilege_ to know, and Dean wouldn’t fault Jo for having a strong relationship with her, for all their arguments.

“Yeah, I know, I’m just saying, I prefer the story line and the motivations of Star Trek more than-

“-So Star Wars nights are just a _lie_?”

Kevin heaved a frustrated sigh; lips pulled into a tired half-grin as he watched Charlie pout. Dean had been listening to their grumbling for the past hour, and as cute as it was he wanted to at least catch a little sleep before they hit Chicago.

“You mind? Have your dork crisis in the morning.” Dean grumbled, slouching further into his reclined seat and tugging his hood lower over his eyes.

 Back up came from an unlikely source from the seat in front of him.” Sleep deprivation isn’t wise; you’ll suppress your immune system.” Castiel said through a yawn, legs tucked up over the neighboring seat and his whole body buried under a thick red blanket. It would be weirdly adorable to Dean if he still weren’t annoyed at Castiel’s continued stand-offish behavior.

Being on the small tour bus had forced interactions more than they had before, but they had yet to have a full conversation like they had when Castiel had first joined. Castiel seemed perfectly able to talk with Charlie, and even Kevin to some degree, but he and Jo might as well not exist.

“Sorry! We’ll shush.” Charlie whisper-yelled, eyeing Kevin with a ‘we’ll talk later’ glance as she settled into her seat.

Fifteen minutes later Kevin heaved a sigh and wiggled in his chair, “This is impossible. Anyone got something to knock me out?” He mumbled. He was the one that was having the hardest time adjusting to the road-life. Not that it surprised Dean much, out of all of them Kevin was the most ‘well-off’ in terms of resources and stability. His mother had nearly blown a gasket when he’d abruptly quit college to pursue music, but they still talked, and she’d even(grudgingly) gifted a pretty sweet keyboard for his past birthday. Being cramped in a tour bus wasn’t something Dean expected Kevin to be able to weather without some difficulty.

“Can take Jo’s example.” Dean snorted as if he had any room to talk. He’d drank his fair share, but he was trying to avoid a hangover for tomorrow’s show.

Castiel rustled from his blanket fort, wild-haired and dozy-eyed. “Hold on.” He lurched to the side, diving under his seat for his backpack he tugged into his lap. Dean craned his head to watch him, curious what he was looking for. A few grumbled seconds later Castiel produced a bag of pill bottles, “Benzos or actual sleeping pills?” He asked hand poised over the bag.

A few heartbeats ticked by, “Sleeping pills, last thing I need is to be a zombie.”

Dean knew Castiel didn’t drink, and he’d seen him smoke a joint, but this was the first time he’d seen Castiel do something surprising in that it was so _normal_. He had started to think the new drummer was deceptively boring, but here he was with a pharmacy at his fingertips. “Jeez Cas, been holding out on us? How’d you get the hookup?”  
  
 Castiel stood, holding a few pills in a clenched fist that he craned to pass back to Kevin. Dean was sure Castiel was going to ignore him for how long it took him to answer, but as he settled back in his seat to put up his backpack, Castiel answered.

“I dated a pharmacist.”

As if that answered all the questions, but it was more than Dean expected.

Another second stretched, and Castiel’s movements paused. “Did you want one?”

The offer took Dean by surprise. It was one thing for Castiel to be nice to Kevin, but Dean didn’t think the other would extend a pharmaceutical olive branch to him either.  

“Benzo, I’m a big boy,” Dean replied, snickering softly at the indignant huff from the back.

Another rustle of the bag later and Castiel’s hand popped through the opening between the seats to deposit a pill into Dean’s upturned hand. “Thanks.” And he meant it. That had to be the most pleasant interaction they had in weeks.

A small grunt of acknowledgement sounded amidst the renewed rustling as Castiel stowed his things. A second later the drummer was consumed by his blanket once more, leaving Dean to smirk into popping the pill and chase it down with his half-empty beer set in the window cupholder.

 

* * *

 

The roar of all the bodies was a drug in and of itself. He was exhausted to the core, but even after stepping off the stage after their fourth show the novelty still hadn’t worn off. Glancing left and right as his band members filed past, Dean grinned until his cheeks hurt. Everyone looked pumped despite the wear and tear the tour was taking on them. He even caught a small smile on Castiel’s lips more than once lately. The first hour or two after a show was a roller coaster. The step down of adrenaline coupled with hearing the crowd’s renewed cheers when the headliners stepped up made it all feel vaguely surreal.

They had some downtime to wait until the show was over, so Dean decided to mill around the venue. They’d played enough that going out into the crowd was getting annoying; getting stopped left and right had been flattering at first, but when Dean just wanted to head to the bar for a beer he didn’t want to have to fight through people to do so. He took a back route, Charlie in pursuit of her own poison.

He was feeling good, good enough that the eyes of a few women across the bar were catching his attention. The ‘groupies’ (Which Dean refused to say out loud because it felt so damn _old_ ) were arguably one of the best perks. There was no shortage of fast and loose, and he and Charlie and started a bet amongst themselves who could end the tour with the most mementoes. Dean wasn’t even ashamed to admit that Charlie was pulling ahead. She had _game_.

His eyes strayed to the stage occasionally, watching the headliners strut and play. Watching the quiet confidence of the lead singer did make a part of him a tiny bit jealous, but Dean figured that kind of swagger just came with practice. The headlining band had a few years on them, so it wasn’t as if they had to be faced down with anyone younger while being more successful. Dean didn’t think his ego could have taken the hit then.

“You were good up there…Wanna sign my T-shirt?” A slightly slurred giggle caught his attention. His eyes pulled from the stage and took a small dive towards the blue-haired woman that was tugging her freshly bought ‘Casual Apocalypse’ shirt from her body, letting him get a liberal view of her chest in the process whether he wanted to or not.

Huffing a quiet chuckle, Dean gave her a lopsided grin. “How could I refuse that level of support?” Across the bar he could see Charlie already chatting up her own mark- or rather _marks_ , so he better get moving unless he lagged behind.

 

An hour later he’d all but ran away to the sanctity of backstage, four beers in him and lipstick sticking to his chin. “Gross.” He grumbled, rubbing at the neon-green mess that had looked so cool up against the girl’s electric blue hair. It had been fun for all of fifteen minutes, but it was abruptly clear to Dean after a little while of chatting her up that there was a good chance of that chick chaining him to the bed (in a completely unsexy way), or he’d wake up with her rifling through his phone posting Instagram pics of them together. ‘Intense’ hadn’t been enough to cover it.

Usually, he was alright with sleeping with crazy, but he had to draw a line somewhere.

He’d seen Charlie leave half an hour ago, with sisters on her arm, so he doubted he’d be seeing her again tonight. Jo had no doubt fucked off already back to the hotel or had found herself a piece to occupy herself with as well. Kevin had been consuming shots at a pace Dean knew he’d regret in the morning, but he just didn’t have the heart to make the kid slow down when he was finally loosening up from his private-school upbringing after what felt like a decade.

Which left Cas. Knowing him, he’d ducked out the back to read on the fire escape, or had fallen asleep in a corner. Both of which Dean had found the drummer doing on more than one occasion.

The cheap beer was leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. His meandering path took on purpose, and he made his way towards the small lounge behind stage where the bands milled around until the buses came back around to get them if they hadn’t already taxied away for a booty call.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” A sighed curse from behind the door should have made him pause to evaluate, but the momentum of his tired, slightly tipsy body was already carrying him through the mostly-closed door.

This made it twice that he’d caught Castiel backstage at a show by surprise, but this time it didn’t look like the man had noticed him at all. Most likely because he was extremely occupied.

The leader singer of the headlining band was sitting on the beat-up leather couch, long arms stretched over the back of the couch, hands fisting the cushions. His headband sporting ‘Prince of hell’ was in danger of slipping down over his kohled eyes as he craned his head a little further back against the couch.

For an irrational moment, Dean had a bubble of panic because he couldn’t remember the guy’s name. He wanted to say it was ‘Tom’, but his stage name was ‘Azazel’, which had cracked him the hell up when he’d first heard the ‘The princes of Hell’ concept.

Why any of that occurred to him when he was getting an eyeful of his drummer on his knees bobbing his head over ‘Azazel’s’ cock he didn’t know.

A fresh rivulet of sweat snaked down the back of Castiel’s neck, catching on his tank top. His shirt was discarded on the floor, something that struck Dean almost as hard as seeing the usually stoic man work another man over with practised ease. Dean's eyes didn’t know where to fall. The glimpse of inky feathers tattooed on Castiel’s back, peeking against his shoulder blades down into the thin ribbing of his top...Or the way his head twisted and sank down over the straining singer’s dick.

The sound hit him a moment later. Filthy and wet. He quietly cursed and thanked a god he didn’t believe in that he wasn’t at an angle to see Castiel’s pierced lips stretched over Azazel’s length. He could imagine it though, all too easy. Castiel’s full lips that were always vaguely chapped, mouth open wide as he tongued and hummed around the invasion that bugled his cheek just right when he tilted.

Azazel’s gaze fell from the ceiling as his hand departed the couch to tangle in Castiel’s wild hair. A slow, slimly grin spread over his lips as their eyes connected.

“Joining us?” It sounded so goddamn cavalier. As if the asshole fully expected him just to walk in and sidle up right next to Castiel for a fucking circle-jerk.

A bile fueled retort rose to his lips, but it lodged at the tip of his tongue as Castiel pulled up off Azazel’s cock with a loud pop. The only thing he managed was a sharp ‘ _shi-.Fuck!’_ as he groped for the door handle and took a hard turn out of the room, prior desire for a water bottle completely forgotten. He could feel the headlights of Castiel’s bright eyes boring into his back as he retreated and that more than anything else sent a hot coursing blush up the back of his neck and flowing into his cheeks.

He’d seen any number of his friends in compromising positions before, and he had done more shameless things in his life then he’d ever admit. But seeing Castiel like that, he didn’t know why it mattered, especially when he didn’t even like the guy, but it sicked him out. He’d gotten used to thinking of Cas as a low-key, grumpy, and frumpy guy. Pill-popper had gotten added to the list, but that hadn’t been a big deal to him. Cock-sucker on the other hand? _That_ mattered.

Dean didn’t stop his retreat until his ass was planted in ‘his’ seat on the bus. He kept replaying it repeatedly in his head, turning over new details with each replay.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly conscious of just how uncomfortable it was. He reached to palm the front of his jeans, intent on adjusting the denim that had ridden up. His hand froze, eyes widening with dawning horror as he felt the half-filled line of his cock pressing against his zipper.

A miserable groan from the bathroom at the back of the bus shocked his hand away from his erection with a gasp. Kevin stumbled from the bathroom, blinding groping from the wall to help him lurch his way to his seat.

“When Castiel gets back…tell him…tell him I need Tylenol fours.” Kevin mumbled as he collapsed into his seat, green around the gills and reeking of vodka.

“Yeah man, no problem.” The sharp smell of alcohol vomit and his self-disgust quickly killed the problem of his groin, and Dean settled in for his misery. Eventually, Castiel would wander back, and Dean would have to look at him and- “Fuck.” He whispered, unsure where to go from here.

 

It wasn’t twenty minutes later when the headlining band came from the building to pile in their bus, with Castiel and Jo trailing behind them.

“Struck out?” Dean’s attention instantly turned to Jo as she stepped on the bus, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Castiel’s presence even as he slid into his seat in front of him.

“Nah, was chatting with Dagon,” Jo replied. ‘Dagon’ was another band member whose real name escaped Dean at the moment, not that he ever cared to know it.” Charlie score?”  
  
Dean snorted, fishing into his backpack for the bottle of water he’d neglected to retrieve before. “Sisters.”

“Jesus Christ, She’s gay catnip.” Jo laughed, brows creasing as Dean fumbled a little taking the cap from his water. “Drink much man?”  
  
Blue eyes were peering back at him through the space in the seats as he finally wrestled the cap from the water. “Shut up.” He mumbled back at Jo, eyes fixed on his water.

“What about you Cas? Soccer mom porn or naptime today?” Usually, Jo just asked Castiel things to annoy him, never really expecting an answer.

Dean swallowed his first gulp, pausing on his second as Castiel shifted back around in his seat once more, tugging on his jacket. His shirt was back in place, his hair more askew than usual.

“Neither.” Was all Castiel answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if anyone wants to follow my tumblr for updates, news on other stories, etc go to : http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ or search #Neon-writes


	4. Sex and Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wasn't handling the aftermath of seeing Castiel in a compromising position well. They hadn't been on great speaking terms to start with, but Dean had taken a few too many things his Father had taught him to heart. Seeing Castiel brought thoughts he hadn't entertained in years to light, and as usual, Dean will do everything possible to avoid them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a chapter out faster than my usual snail's pace this time. I'm trying! haha.  
> Chapter Warnings!  
> Homophobic thoughts and mindsets ahead. References to a very homophobic John. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone following me here and on tumblr!

 “Yeah, I mean it’s going well- No I’m not-, look, I’m just tired alright? Hell, you remember how hard it was when the band _wasn’t_ touring.” Dean grumbled, perching himself against the back wall of the concert hall. It was early morning and he doubted half the band was up, but he’d been restless. They’d had a bigger jump between the last show to get from here to there, and had a day where they could get their shit together. The hall was bigger than the last and better yet-  sold out. The extra day of getting rested and their gear set up was sorely needed.

“ _I’m just worried. I know I bailed before Casual Apocalypse took off, but Dean I remember how…easy it was to pick up bad habits. I just want you to be careful.”_

 He wasn’t caffeinated enough for a lecture from his baby brother.

“I got it, _Samantha_. Geez, you get yourself ‘respectable’ and lose all your cool. What’s next, Kale smoothies and colonics?”

 _“Ha-ha Dean.Oh but that does remind me, Jess has started running with me in the morning! Trying to reverse all that pack-a-day smoking. Jesus, I underestimated how much that stuff fucks up- Dean are you listening to me?”_  
  
The phone had drifted a little from his ear as he craned to hear who had walked in from the front. He leaned up, peering into the barely-light darkness. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m here I’m just- _ShitI!”_ It was Castiel because of course, it was Castiel. Dean had only been avoiding looking, talking, and generally breathing the same air as the drummer for the past two days after ‘the incident’, and he was still nowhere near ready to look the man in the eye.

 _“Gross, Dean if you’re on the john I don’t want to know.”_  
  
Goddammit, Sam. “No that’s not-..Just..Keeping talking.” He grumbled, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as Castiel walked down the middle of the empty open room. Dean barely resisted the urge to bristle when the other’s head turned in his direction. He couldn’t see in the darkness, but he just knew those piercings blues were staring holes into him. The guy had friggin’ laser beams for eyes.

 _“I- Was? But okay? You’re being weirder than usual, are you on something?”_ It was meant as a jest, but Sam was fishing a little. Dean usually stuck to alcohol most days, but it wasn’t like he was going to pass up something better if it was offered, he just had a preferred method of getting shit-faced.

 Castiel was coming over. Fuck.

“No, I’m not on- Would you chill? Hold on.” Dean was going to have to bite the bullet. He held the phone away from his ear and gave a small sound of acknowledgement while not directly looking at Castiel. He was still rumpled from sleep, weighed down by a heavy black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, but even in what was no doubt his pyjamas; Dean still couldn’t disassociate the memory of the swaths of skin that lurked underneath.

A styrofoam cup of chain-store coffee was thrust at him, which was probably the last thing he’d expected out of Cas after…Shit, Cas had to know it was him that walked in right? He had to of seen him when he left, no matter how fast Dean had high-tailed it out of there. 

“You got up early.” Castiel’s voice was sleep-rough.

Reluctantly, Dean’s eyes found their way back to Castiel’s face as he accepted the coffee with his free hand.” Yeah, um, thanks. Couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d call Sam- uh, my brother. No wait, you know that. I’m just-, he’s on the line.” Dean stumbled, wishing he could reach out and tape down Castiel’s rising brow to spare him that **look.** He was acting like a flake, but he’d rather swallow his own tongue than admit he’d seen Castiel a couple nights ago.

Castiel rotated his cup in his hands, stare as heavy as it ever was. Weighing. “Tell Sam I said-“About the time Dean was sure Cas was going to say ‘hi’ and take his leave, Sam had to open his big fat mouth.

“ _Is that Castiel?? Put him on!_ ” Put him on? It was his damn phone!

 Dean scowled, thrusting out his phone towards the rumpled drummer without a word, eyes falling away to stare off towards the stage.

The low rumbled conversation next to him felt irritatingly familiar. Like Castiel and Sam talked more than Dean had expected. ‘Hello, Sam.Yes, I’m fine..Mm, quite well. It’s very…enlightening. Oh? Tell Jess I said hello and thank her for that recipe.’ Recipe? Between the two of them, Sam and Jess knew how to cook five things! Which probably meant Jess had given Cas her spaghetti and meatballs recipe, because it was the only thing she could cook reliably, and it taste the same every time. Great, that had to mean Castiel was also a shitty cook if he was taking tips from Jess of all people. How was Dean the only person he knew besides Benny that could google ‘How to cook (blank)’ and it not go up in literal flames?

Not that he did much of that since Sam moved out. Why go through the trouble if it was just him?

Dean snorted softly to himself as he took a sip of his coffee, expecting a bitter flood over his tongue. The acrid taste of cheap coffee never came, not when it was drowned in a liberal amount of cream and an appropriate amount of sugar. Castiel had remembered how he drank his coffee? The only reason Dean remembered Castiel usually drank his black was because of how hilariously lazy he found it. If Castiel was on his second cup, he’d bother with fancying it up, but the first cup was always black.

“Dean?” Dean sputtered on his next sip. Castiel was staring at him again, holding out his phone with that damn eyebrow cocked.

“Oh, yeah. I’m going to just, thanks for the coffee.” It was rude, but he couldn’t handle any more of this situation right now. He accepted the phone and pushed off the wall to make his way towards the back, for once enjoying the inane prattle Sam yammered off about where he’d been hired to work at a local clinic until he finished school. He still felt eyes on him, too like the feeling nights before, but it was easier to ignore with another voice in his ear.

 

 

* * *

 

Set up and rehearsal had gone about as smoothly as he thought it would when he was still trying to avoid a major part of the band. He’d acted like a jerk this morning, he wasn’t going to deny that, but did that mean he was going to do anything about it? Hell no. Dean was already this committed to avoiding the elephant in the room, and he would double down on it as long as possible.

Unfortunately, ‘As long as possible’ ended up being five minutes after rehearsal ended.

 “Dean.” Dean cussed softly and dropped the amp-cord he was busy winding up to get out of the way. Castiel was coming up on him after setting his kit backstage, and no one was around to save him from the impending conversation. Dean could see it in Castiel’s eyes, the ‘We’re talking about this’ might as well be on his forehead in neon. Why wasn’t Cas one of those guys that just let things _go_ , but Dean had never been so lucky.

“Yep?” He tried for casual and failed.

Castiel planted himself in front of Dean; brows furrowed deep enough to etch small lines on his forehead. “Are you homophobic?” Castiel could have slapped him for all the shock it caused him. Homophobic? Was he?

“What..No! I just…come on. I don’t care if two dudes bang or anything, just not-“Dean floundered. Fundamentally, did he have a problem with two dudes fucking? Well…kind of? He’d always tried not to think about it. He knew Kevin largely dated men, and Charlie was as lesbian as a person could get. Lesbians he had no problem with, who _would_?! Two chicks banging? Awesome! He still couldn’t stomach the idea that it was okay for two guys though.

John Winchester had been pretty outspoken on what he thought of ‘queers’ growing up. What kind of men could call themselves ‘real men’ if they got down on their knees and serviced another guy? Dean had heard every kind of derogatory term for gays there was out of that man. Some of it even he blanched and turned away from, but some of it was- kind of right, right? At least he thought so…maybe? He’d given up on church and the bible ages ago, but he’d been raised a certain way it some things stuck around more than he’d realized.

“Let me guess the end of that sentence, ‘just not in front of you?’?” Castiel finished for him with a disgusted scoff, “So yes, you do have a problem. You’ve been treating me like a goddamn leper, and I’m tired of it.” He’d never seen Castiel this pissed off before.

Dean tried to scrape his defense together, lips twisting in a frown of his own. “Well sor-ry if I have trouble lookin’ you in the eye after seeing _that_. Jesus, I went in there to get a drink of water, and you’re just-…Jesus! Anyone could have walked in there, and you’re just what? Blowin’ captain douche-canon like Sasha Grey?”

“First, I don’t know who that is, second I’ve seen you literally fuck someone on the bus after a show so don’t start the who’s fucking-where game.” Castiel was crowding him, edging closer as his voice pitched into a dangerous growl that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck prickle. “And if you had such a problem with it, why did you stand there that long?”

Dean really wished Castiel had slapped him this time. He’d much rather start a fight than answer to Castiel’s darkly amused smirk. Castiel had to of heard the door swing open or his near-drunken stumbling, but he still hadn’t stopped. Castiel had known he was there the whole time, or at least that _someone_ was. He probably hadn’t realized who until he turned around, but Dean had been standing there long enough without saying anything that it was suspicious.

Worse still, he had no answer to that he could give. Dean couldn’t even say he’d been completely disgusted because his dick had been pretty interested.

“I…What was I supposed to do? It freaked me out!” Dean blurted, using his forearm to shove Castiel back a few steps so he could duck out from under the pinning stare. His heart was thundering in his chest like he’d tried jogging around the building. He was developing a habit of running away from Castiel, but staying to face him down was unthinkable. If he did that, then he’d do something stupid like admitting to Cas that he’d popped a goddamn boner of all things, but it hadn’t MEANT anything!

He’d gotten aroused by men before, but his dick was on a hair-trigger anyway, so he’d never thought anything of it. He didn’t want to screw a dude! And he wasn’t going to sit there and let Castiel jedi mind-games him into thinking otherwise.

 

 

* * *

 

“Seriously?” Dean watched as Charlie flitted about, shoving all her things into bags with a shit-eating grin.

“Sor~ry, but this chick? This chick is hot as hell, and there is no way I’m missing out.  Raincheck on the movie?” Charlie fluttered her thick lashes at him with a giggle, knowing there was no way in hell he could begrudge her for her continuous streak. He’d seen the girl she’d been chatting up, part of the staff from the concert hall. If she hadn’t been batting for Charlie’s team Dean would have tried in a heartbeat.

He snorted, flopping down on his bed with a small wiggle to shimmy him up a little farther. “Yeah yeah, enjoy the single.” It was a regular occurrence to play room roulette on who got the single room since there was an odd number of band members. Sometimes they traded according to who got lucky, and it looked like Charlie was the one to take the prize tonight. He couldn’t remember who had the single room tonight. Maybe Kevin? That could be a good night. He enjoyed Kevin’s commentary most of the time when they watched shitty B-rated horror films.

“Okay, I’m out. Have fun! Play nice! Last thing we need is you and Cas killing each other.” Charlie smirked, shoving on her sneakers and dashing out the door before Dean had time to absorb her chatter.

 Wait, Cas? Dean sat up, staring after the disappearing red-head with wide eyes. “Betrayal!” He shouted after, flopping right back over with a childish groan. _Of course,_ it was Castiel that ended up with the single this go around. So far, he’s been able to dodge getting roomed with Castiel, and the universe had to hate him enough to make tonight of all nights be the one where he’d play roommates to a guy that had called him a raging homophobe.

He didn’t have long to stew in his self-pity. Castiel showed up minutes later, wordlessly setting his backpack and duffel down at the foot of his bed without once looking over at Dean. Not that he didn’t deserves it, but the cold-shoulder was annoying regardless. Call it petty, but Dean didn’t like being ignored. It instantly made him feel like he was back in kindergarten, pouting and huffing around until the party ignoring him relented.

The silence was going to get old fast, that’s for damn sure.

“I’m going to shower.” Castiel announced after rifling through his duffel for his bathing supplies.

Okay, Dean usually at least did the polite ‘Who goes first?’ unless he roomed with Charlie and then rock-paper-scissored for it, but fine. Castiel was still pissed, Dean would let it slide. He shrugged and tugged out his phone from his pocket. If Castiel was going to largely ignore him, then Dean would play along, and the night would be uncomfortable for them both.

The bathroom door shut, and Dean sighed to himself. [This blows. I’m rooming with Mr Grumpy. He’s going to kill me in my sleep.]. He typed out to Jo, hitting ‘send’ with a deeper pout.

[He’s not so bad. Gave me Xs and we ate M&Ms when we roomed together.]

Shit, Jo had gone native. [M&ms? Why not marry him? I feel so betrayed right now.] Dean rolled onto his stomach dramatically, scowling at his phone like it had personally offended him. So now Jo thought Cas was ‘not so bad’ too? It felt like everyone had gotten on decent terms with the new drummer except for him, and there was fat chance of it now.

[Stow your shit Winchester, we need him. Learn to play nice.]

Jo never let him get away with anything, which was partly why he liked her so much. Jo was like the little sister he’d never known he wanted until they’d met a few years ago. She had strong opinions that she had no trouble sharing and had been known to punch him when he deserved it, which was frankly more often than it occurred.

[Yeah yeah…Go roll. Don’t let Kevin get too loaded up; he’s a lightweight.] Dean bid goodnight with a fresh air of defeat. The sound of the shower was lulling, and by the time Castiel shut off the water Dean had nearly drifted off to sleep.

The door swung open, and Dean rolled back over, figuring he needed to get his shower in before he hit the sack. They needed to be fresh for the show tomorrow, and the closer they got to the end of the tour the more the other shows were starting to catch up. The next time they toured (because Dean would make damn sure they did), they’d have to do a few things smarter, but all and all he was still feeling pretty upbeat about everything.

He sat up, blinking rapidly at the first sight of tattooed flesh pass by. Castiel had a towel wrapped around his waist, covering most of his legs save for lower calves, ankles, and feet. His ink continued down there still, not as heavily bunched as the rest of his body but enough where Dean could see plenty of black, grey, red against olive skin. Another towel was draped over his shoulders, shielding most of his upper body from sight as well. Dean spied wispy black and grey ink against Castiel’s lower back, part of a bigger piece, but he couldn’t see enough from his angle to make out what.

Biting down the curiosity, he got to his feet to duck into the bathroom, abruptly feeling like being in the room with a barely-covered Castiel was a recipe for…for _something_ to happen.

“Shit.” He’d been in such a hurry that he’d forgotten to grab his shower gel and toothbrush. He huffed, shooting a dour look at his reflection for being this much of a coward. Why pussy foot around his own damn drummer? Cas was pissed at him, fine, what the fuck ever. He wasn’t going to tiptoe around just because Castiel had a problem with Dean not liking having seen him blow Azazel.

He walked back into the room to retrieve his stuff, keeping his eyes down while he knelt by his bag. Keeping his eyes and curiosity to himself had never been a strong point, and the towel that occupied the floor next to Castiel’s bed proved too enticing for him not to investigate. Dean took a quick glance up.

Castiel was on the end of his bed, seemingly busy changing out the weights he’d worn in his stretched ears for plugs to sleep in. He was in boxers, his pile of sleep clothing next to him as well as the second towel. Dean had thought Castiel had a lot of ink before, but now he thought he had a _shitton_. Weird symbols, religious blasphemy, anything and everything he’d seen in those brief few seconds he’d first glimpsed Castiel’s bare skin when he’d walked in on him changing before. The feathers on his upper right shoulder drew Dean’s attention from his angle, and the black feathers he’d seen peeking from Castiel’s tank top before, and the wispy grey-black on his lower back made abrupt sense. Castiel must have an entire backpiece of them, which was badass and a half, but Dean wasn’t about to tell him that out loud.

“You like occult stuff or something?” Dean blurted, still openly staring even after he’d sworn he was just going to grab his shit and flee back into the bathroom.

Castiel’s jaw set. He’d obviously been trying to ignore Dean coming back into the room while he was undressed as much as Dean had initially tried. “Not really.” He rumbled a low reply, weaving as much ‘Fuck off’ as he could into innocent enough words.

Dean watched as he tugged on his sweatshirt despite only having fixed one ear.

“Fine, I get it.” Scowling was becoming his default reaction when it came to Castiel. He snatched up his toothbrush more viciously than necessary and stomped his way to the bathroom. He’d just asked a damn question! Castiel had a lot of weird, witchy looking shit plastered all over his body surely a fucking question wasn’t that unwarranted? He’d wanted to at least ask about the wings, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon either.

Dean stripped, crumpling his clothing carelessly on the floor in favour of stepping under the scalding hot water he’d barely bothered to temper with the cold tap.

He couldn’t’ _stand_ Castiel’s attitude. Everyone else had gotten into the moody man’s good graces, but Castiel still treated him like dirt even before ‘the incident’! He’d never said anything god-awful to earn Castiel’s anger towards him, or at least he didn’t think so. Sometimes he could say things that Charlie would tell him wasn’t ‘PC’, but they knew he didn’t really hate anyone as long as they weren’t assholes. So maybe he’d said something not cool and the others hadn’t called him on it, but he’d rather have Castiel turn around and chew him out for it then just sit there festering in his dislike. Castiel didn’t have a problem chewing his ass out earlier this morning, so why hadn’t he before?

‘ _You sure stood there long enough’_.

Castiel’s accusation ghosted in his memory as he soaped himself up with rough hands. He’d been shocked, but that’s not what had kept him rooted in place. Not really. He could still clearly remember the sight of Castiel’s knees planted on the floor, his ass straining against the tightness of his jeans. He’d never taken time to notice before, but Cas’s ass was- Oh yeah, he remembered overhearing Castiel say to Charlie that he biked most everywhere when he didn’t take his ugly ass jeep. That he liked to jog. That explained the ass.

Dean had what he considered normal everyday adolescent fucking arounds when he was younger. A neighborhood kid and he had gotten up to no good after school one day, sucking each other off, clumsy with no clue what they were doing hidden under the bleachers of the gym. It had felt good, and that had been the goal, but Dean had never thought anything else about it. He’d gotten a few drunken hand jobs before, just…things that happened in the moment. It didn’t mean he was open to guys, or that he wanted them but-  Hell if he was, Castiel might be the kind he’d go for.

Castiel wasn’t a waif by any means. Solid built. Cas had to work out at least occasionally, or maybe he was just better at taking care of himself than the rest of them aside from the pill-popping. The tattoos decorated instead of detracted, too many to ever really see at once even if Dean had the opportunity to stare.

And he obviously knew his way around a cock; Dean had seen that first hand. His mind kept looping back to it, juxtaposing the new expanses of flesh he’d just glimpsed with the image of Castiel’s bobbing head. It was too easy now to imagine him naked, ink and olive skin stretched out with his intense bright-blue staring up at him as Castiel worked him over-

“Fuck.” He cussed, wondering when the hell the idle speculation had breached into fantasy, and why he’d started thinking about Castiel blowing _him_ instead.

But god it was easy to. Castiel had sounded downright filthy in that room. All slick and suction with one hand braced against that asshole’s thigh, and the other gripping the weathered couch for leverage. Seeing that from a head-on perspective would have been ridiculous. Castiel already had a gaze that could make you feel like an insect if he wanted to, but imagining anything erotic over his stubbled face was way more arousing than Dean wanted to admit.

Dean had his hand wrapped around his rapidly filling cock before he was conscious of doing it. Sam often accused him of thinking with his dick more than his brain, and moments like these he was inclined to believe him.  
  
Soundless cusses kept falling past his lips as he tilted his head into the hot spray. His hand slid down to grip against his balls, legs widening as much as the small space would allow so he could run his fingers against the underside of each globe.

His fingers trailed back a little further, index finger kneading slow circles against the soft stretch of skin between his balls and hole. He had to swallow the groan that built in his throat, always more vocal of a lover. Dean thought of himself a man of hedonistic pleasures. Food, beer, and sex, and he liked to appreciate all of those loudly. He’d never be able to live it down if Castiel overheard him. He didn’t want to think about the ‘whys’ right now.

 He’d rather think about what Castiel’s hands could do along with that mouth. Dean imagined them to be kind of rough, like his own from long hours of practice. Castiel had lean, muscular arms from drumming, and Dean knew his grip would be firm, punishing. He liked it when the girls he slept with got handsy and a little rough. Gripping his hair while they took their pleasure and made him see stars.

Castiel could probably grip him hard enough to bruise his scalp if he wanted to. Castiel’s stubble would scrape against his skin, leaving a red trail that he’d feel for hours after. Dean hated to think it, but he wondered what kissing Castiel would be like. He’d never kissed another man before, even with all the sporadic fooling around. It had been a line he’d refused to cross. That was too intimate to even think about.

But Cas was so quietly domineering that Dean had to think Castiel would try and kiss him anyway, bruising his lips and backing him against what ever surface before dropping to his knees to take.

“Sh-shit.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against the shower wall, hot water coursing over his back as his hand fisted his dick in earnest. His left hand was still plunged between his legs, rubbing and kneading against a spot that sent dull shocks through him. The electricity could be so much more, but he'd never dared to work his fingers into himself. Just another line he refused to traverse for fear of what it might mean.

Castiel wouldn’t have those problems. Dean figured the way he was arching his back, just inviting eyes to his ass. He probably worked himself open without care.

The thought of Castiel curling his fingers into his depths made Dean lose it. Dean came with a strangled gasp, hips jerking and as he bit the corner of his cheek to stamp down the groan that had started in his throat.

When the final shocks stopped, and his breath returned to him, he looked down at the streaked tile wall with a faint frown. His hands fell away from his groin, a new cuss on his lips that had nothing to do with pleasure this time.  He’d given up being disgusted over masturbating when he was a teenager, but for the first time in years, he felt like he’d done something wrong.

He was having trouble even justifying how he could get off thinking about Castiel. Most straight guys would see a guy they knew blowing another guy and run out of there without a goddamn erection. Dean figured that was kind of part of the definition of being straight, so what the hell had he been _doing_?!  
  
Scowling, he resoaped and scrubbed off the remains of his shame against the wall.

 For once it looked like someone up there was having mercy. By the time he trudged out of the bathroom ten minutes later in his PJ pants and brushed teeth, Castiel was folded up in the sheets of his bed, unmoving. Dean didn’t let his eyes linger on the outline of Castiel’s body under the sheets as he climbed into bed and set his phone on the nightstand between the two queen beds. He wanted to open up the bottle of jack in his duffel, but he didn’t want to wake Castiel and have him asking questions. Instead, he settled for staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the even, deep sounds of breath coming from the man only a few feet away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if anyone wants to follow my tumblr for updates, news on other stories, requests, or commissions, etc go to : http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ or http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/Fanfics
> 
> Updated as of February 2018: Taking a brief hiatus from this just to churn out a secret project, once I'm done with that one I'm coming back to this with a vengeance <3


	5. Sister Christian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has a sit down with Dean, and Dean is forced to face a few things about himself he's largely ignored for years.  
> Good news spawns a trip that unearths a little more mystery about Castiel, and Dean finds his mind occupied with the peculiar drummer despite his vows to leave it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for the lapse, I'm going to try and get more updates for this going but I've been busy busy. So thanks for to return readers, and hello to the new!
> 
> For the warnings: Usual homophobic mindset warnings

 Dean knocked back his fifth beer for the night. Music was strumming in the background, and the cigarettes were going down as smooth as the beer. It was the perfect night to end their first tour.

“We fucking rock!” Charlie whooped nearby, hopping over the bench to deposit herself next to him. They’d stopped the tour bus for a half hour to let everyone stretch their legs and piss, but Dean would rather take in the night air and another beer than walk around like the others.

“My sentiments exactly, Red.” Dean smiled lazily. He reached out to ruffle a fond hand through Charlie’s bright hair, snickering softly at her quiet protests.

They settled in for a few moments, content to watch the insects buzz around the overhead streetlamp at the rest stop.

Charlie shifted, tucking a leg up on the bench as she shimmied to face him.” What gives between you and Cas by the way? I mean I know you guys aren’t BFFs, but…” She trailed. Everyone had noticed the past show was tense, to say the least. Dean hadn’t exchanged a word with Castiel for a week, not since that night in the motel room. How could he face the guy after jerking off with Castiel as the star in his fantasy porn?

“I mean, we’re not ‘besties’, but everyone knows that,” Dean grumbled, not wanting to get into this when he was feeling so relaxed.

“Dean, don’t bullshit me. Who’s been your best friend for ten years?” Charlie was having none of it.

Sighing, Dean shrugged his way upright to scooch a little closer. This was the last thing he wanted anyone to come up and overhear. Telling Charlie about what he’d seen, and what he’d done, was humiliating at best but Charlie would know if he was pulling his punches. The only person who knew him better than Charlie was his baby brother.

“Holy shit really?” Charlie breathed, wide-eyed.” Huh, I know gaydar is a stereotype, but I’m kind of pissed mine is so bad I never picked up on- Wait, Are you avoiding Cas just because he’s gay?”

Dean sank a little, knocking back another hard pull.” I-, Jesus Charlie. I know you’re a lesbian, and that’s cool. I get Kevin bats for both teams and just..prefers dudes, But I’ve never seen Kevin suckin’ dick you know? Fuck I didn’t want to see that.”

“Uh, apparently you did since you beat your meat to it.” Charlie volleyed pointedly, indignant brows furrowing.” Don’t give me that shit Winchester.”

Great, now even Charlie was pissed at him.” I can’t fucking help it that it weirds me out okay?!”

 Charlie shook her head, snatching his beer bottle from his hand to drain it. “Why’s it weird you out? Tell me.”

“Well,” Dean squirmed, trying in vain to articulate the years of learned behavior. ”It just _does_. My dad always says that men and women are different for a reason.”

A hard, disgusted snort sounded from the small, but spunky lesbian.” I didn’t ask for what your dad says, Dean. I asked _you_. Why do _you_ find it uncomfortable?”

Dean licked his lips in a vain attempt to wet his suddenly dry mouth.” I get guys like they have on Tv, you know California types, being…gay or whatever. But,” He groped in the dark, looking in desperation at his best friend to fill in the blanks.

“But you’ve never seen masculine men fuck around with other masculine men?” Charlie finished with a tired sigh, “Dean, people come in all sizes, shapes, colors, genders, and sexuality. So yeah, beer drinking, gym rats can be as gay as your every-day fairy-queen. Do I look like the television caricature of a lesbian?”

Dean snorted softly to himself, “No, but you’d look pretty good with a crew cut and flannel, Red.” He teased softly, reaching out to gently nudge her shoulder.

“Damn right I would.” Charlie smiled, sidling closer until she could slot her body into the warm line of Dean’s side.” It’s okay if you’re attracted to Cas, Dean. He’s a cute fella. If I wasn’t gay as hell-“ Her brows waggled suggestively, pulling another chuckle out of him.” But I do think you owe him an apology or something and stop railing on him so hard. Some people aren’t the social butterflies we are. Look at how long it took Kevin to let his hair down.”

That was true. Kevin was practically the picture of private school rebellion when they’d first met. He knew how to carry a tune and then some, but yikes. The polos had taken a while to rotate out of his wardrobe to something a little more rock and roll.

“Yeah, I hear you,” Dean grumbled, looping his arm around her to tug Charlie close. “What would I do without my pint-sized gay Yoda?”

“Sit here in existential gay panic?”

Dean re-ruffled her hair,” I ain’t gay. I just think that sometimes…maybe some guys are hotter than others.” It wasn’t like he was going to be jumping into bed with the next dude that winked his way at a show. Or at all even.

“Bisexual then, whatever. Jesus.” Charlie weaseled her cool hands up under his shirt, and no amount of complaints would dislodge her.” Just be _nice_. We’re finally makin’ it here, don’t develop a feud with the drummer.”

“I won’t, stop naggin’ me, woman.” Dean hissed under the onslaught of cold fingers.

Across the parking lot, Kevin waved from the tour bus, “Come on assholes! Grope on the bus!”

Gagging, Charlie stood.” Keep your pants on Tran! For everyone’s sake!” She bent to help Dean pick up a few scattered beer bottles and chuck them in the garbage.” You good now?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The week after getting back from the tour felt like a let down after the insane past few weeks they’d had. They needed the rest, but Dean still missed the adrenaline of prancing up on stage in front of a room of bodies.

“Can it guys, Sam is callin’.” Dean groused, pinning everyone in the band with a level stare until they all fell relatively silent. Rehearsals were back on rotation as they started to churn out new songs, but it was difficult to get back into the swing of things.

“Sam?” Dean walked a little ways off to escape from the shouts of ‘Hey!’ ‘Sammmm!’ and everyone but Cas ignoring his command for quiet.

A handful of minutes later, Dean sucked in a gasp loud enough it had everyone perking up in their seats, even Cas. “Are you shittin’ me?!” He pushed a hand back through his hair, a grin breaking over his freckled cheeks.” I can’t- That’s fucking great Sammy! Who knew you had it in you! When is it?” Dean was ignoring the curious looks he was getting as he rushed to hunt down a piece of paper to scribble things down on.

“Fuck, of course, I’ll- _We’ll_ be there man! Try and stop us!” Dean rumbled a few more words with his brother before -finally- he hung up and turned to address the room. “Guess what guys?”

“Fucking tell us before I explode Dean!” Charlie supplied.

 After blowing a childish raspberry Charlie’s way, Dean hurried back to descend on the couch in the middle of Charlie and Jo, jostling them both. “My baby bro’s getting hitched!”

The shrill scream erupting next to him momentarily derailed the rest of the band's reactions.” YES!” Charlie fist pumped.” Please tell me we’re going. We’re going, right? I _love_ weddings!”

“Fuck yes we’re going, we can’t miss Sammy’s big day. He’s still one of us.” Dean wasn’t going to have any less. Sam had helped form this damn band, and just because he’d left for other things didn’t mean they didn’t all still miss him. Especially Dean. He felt Sam’s absence like a hole in his chest.

“Tell Sam I said congratulations. Jess is a fine woman.” Castiel smiled softly, leaning back to twirl one of his drumsticks lazily at his fingertips.

“Tell him yourself man; we’re _all_ going.” Dean snorted, daring Castiel to argue. They were doing this as a band. They owed Sam that much if Castiel tried to worm his way out of this- Well Dean wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

The drumstick clattered to the ground, “Me- Why-, I don’t…” Castiel’s brows furrowed, faced with four sets of expectant eyes. “Surely Sam wouldn’t mind if I wasn’t there.”

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re friends right?” Jo piped up, dark brows furrowing critically. She’d been getting along with Castiel well enough lately, but this could tip Castiel back in her ill favor.

Castiel bent to retrieve his drumstick, but they were all still looking at him when he came back up. There was no escaping it.” I…suppose I could. For Sam.” He sighed.

Dean’s smile returned, slapping his hand to his thigh with renewed vigor.” That’s what I’m talking about! We’re going to crash my baby bro’s wedding, tell embarrassing stories, and remind him where he came from before he started his fancy-smancy job.” He chuckled as if a veterinarian was a ‘fancy’ job title.

Everyone in the room, even Bobby, was more than happy to whoop and laugh, all save the drummer sitting morosely in a beaten up old leather chair. If Dean noticed, he wasn’t going to comment, because for once, nothing was going to rain on his parade.

 

 

Dean would like to say they all cleaned up well, but that would be stretching it. Even in button-ups and jeans, most of them still looked like they belonged in a dive bar rather than the small, rustic white church tucked away down a country lane. It was idyllically sickening and utterly perfect for Sam and Jess. It had everything people thought of when they imagined an American apple-pie life. Worn pews, an ancient pastor with tufts of white hair, and little tea light candles set in mason jars. It would only be a few more years before Sam was telling him that they’d bought a house with a picket fence and were planning those two point five kids.

Sam came walking down the aisle, grinning from ear to ear as he reached out to pull his shorter, older brother into a solid hug despite the fact they’d flew in yesterday. That they were all in the church now for rehearsals made it all _real_.

“Place looks great Sammy.” Dean rumbled fondly, squeezing back a little longer than normal. He hadn’t seen his brother in months, and the gaping void Sam’s departure had left hadn’t been more apparent than when he was standing before him now. Knowing he’d have to leave Sam again after the wedding made the fissure within worse.

A click of heels came up from behind Sam, and Jess peered around her fiancé with a bright smile. “Thanks, Sam wanted to get married outside, but I told him as soon as we did it would come a typhoon. I don’t want to get swept away in a flash flood on my wedding, thank-you-very-much.” She smirked, lacing her fingers with Sam’s after brushing a long blond wave from the corner of her eye.

Jess was everything Dean could hope for when his brother said he’d bagged a girl. She was sweet, sassy in her own way, and could throw down when push came to shove. She had just enough of a wild side to keep up with Sam’s past, and considering what Dean knew about his baby brother, that was saying something.

“Course the tree-ent over here would want to get hitched outside,” Dean smirked as they continued to meander around the church, readying for rehearsals.

“Your nerd is showing, Dean,” Sam smirked.

“You’re one to talk, Samantha.” Dean sneered softly, back glancing to see that they’d lost a member of their party. Castiel was hanging back, easing himself into a back pew with a vaguely pinched look on his face. Nothing new.

 Sam’s smile waned a little when he watched Dean walk to the front. He let the others walk off, yet when Charlie walked by he reached out to snag her arm.” Hey Charlie, mind if I talk to you?”  
  
“’Course, what’s up big guy?” Charlie followed him as they took a moment to step outside, taking in the breeze and the setting sun.

Sam frowned softly, hand instinctively going to his pocket for a cigarette even though he’d quit months ago. Old habits died hard. “How’s…How’s Dean doing? Like, really doing?” He’d noticed Dean was indulging more often than not when they talked on the phone at night.

“He’s doing good. Friggin’ thrilled with how that tour went you know? Living it up. We all are.” Charlie smiled, not noticing the quiet storm darkening in Sam’s hazels.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. I remember how it was; sure it’s…more…now. I’m just kind of worried you know? I don’t want Dean to end up like dad. Shit, we don’t even know where he’s wandered off to.” Sam sighed, smoothing his long, dark chestnut hair back from his scrunched face.

Charlie’s smile weakened a touch, even when she gave a nonchalant shrug.” He- isn’t that bad. Honest.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself, and both of them knew it.

“Okay…” Sam would let it go, but he didn’t feel any better about it. “Just be careful okay? I’m not going to be preachy, but, I worry.” He bent nearly in half to hug Charlie, but it was worth the lower back strain to gather her into his arms for a good squeeze.

“I know mooseling, I know. Let’s go. We gotta practice you marrying your little lady in there~” She shoved him off towards the door, giving his backside a playful swat to get him walking.

“Watch the goods, Charlie; I need those buns.” Jess snickered, motioning everyone up to the front to begin.

It wasn’t going to be a large affair, just vows, exchanging rings and jazz, but it was simple and meaningful. Dean could feel the lack of their father in the pews even now, and bitterness gnawed at his inside that didn’t have anything to do with the residual hangover from toasting Sam’s impending nuptials one time too many. John was supposed to be here to see his youngest get married. Just like he was supposed to be there when Sam had graduated high school, something Dean had never gotten the luxury of doing. He’d finally managed to scrape together enough time to get his GED, but that was only at Sam’s insistence. Dean had never felt the need, or encouragement, to pursue that avenue. It just wasn’t meant for him.

John had teased that all the brains had gone to Sam when they were children, and no matter how much Sam protested it, Dean had finally started believing that to be true. Which was why Dean was so damn proud of Sam now. Dean had known Sam was capable of great things if he tried, but he never knew how to give Sam those things. But now, Sam had found them on his own. He hadn’t needed Dean there as a surrogate father to hold his hand or tell him what to do. Sam wasn’t lost like he was.

Dean watched as Sam and Jess went through the basics, telling everyone where to stand and the pastor shuffling in a little later to give the highlights. Minutes after the pastor made his way into the church; Dean spotted movement in the back. Castiel rose, darting out of the church as briskly and inconspicuously as he could.

A small surge of irritation flared, and Dean leaned to nudge Kevin.” I’ll be right back.” He whispered, ducking down the side of the aisle to pursue Castiel. He’d told the man that it was important for all of them to be there in support. Dean had thought Cas was decent enough to support Sam, especially when it sounded like they were on such good terms.

He stepped outside but didn’t see any immediate sign of the departed. Scowling, he was about to fish out his phone when he heard the telltale sound of puking coming from the side of the quaint little church.

Okay…

Dean’s face pinched, and he went around the side, peering around the corner. “Cas?” He could see him there, leaning against the side of the building with his head between his outstretched arms. Castiel’s arms trembled from the strain of the sudden onslaught surging up his throat, and he didn’t immediately move to acknowledge Dean’s presence.

Castiel bent after another breath, vomiting up the remains of lunch into the grass with a heavy heave.

“Jesus Christ dude.” Dean stepped close, careful not to step in puke as he raised a cautious hand to Castiel’s quivering shoulder. “The fuck? You sick?” It couldn’t be food poisoning; he’d eaten the exact same sandwich Castiel had hours ago and still felt fine. Maybe Castiel had taken one too many pills?

Weakly, Castiel shook his head with a low groan. Minutes trickled by, but Castiel didn’t look like there was much of anything left to come back up. Sighing, he pushed back from the building and distanced himself a little before flopping down on his backside in the grass. Slightly dressier jeans or not.

“I’m-, I’m fine. You can go back inside.” Castiel mumbled, shoving his shirt sleeve against his mouth to clear the bile clinging to his lips.

“Don’t look fine, damn dude.” Dean crouched, peering over Castiel’s face for any signs of- Well, he didn’t know. He wasn’t a damn doctor.” Want me to get Jess?” They’d found out the night before that Jess was a nurse, she could check him over, it’d be better than nothing.

Castiel waved him off, “No, I’m fine. Really. I have a …phobia, against churches.” Castiel refused to meet his eyes, which made Dean want to call the obvious bullshit, but something in Castiel’s expression said leave it. Castiel had puked up his insides back there, and that didn’t seem like a simple phobia to Dean. He wasn’t the genius Sam was, but it didn’t take one to see the obvious.

“If you’re sure. Want me to get you a water or something?” Their relationship might be strained, but Dean had a fussing nature at heart. He couldn’t just leave the guy sitting in the grass looking like a newborn baby deer.

Castiel’s lips parted for an immediate refusal, but he thought better of it.” That- would be nice, thank you…Dean.” His eyes flicked up, momentarily meeting Dean’s own. Dean wasn’t used to seeing Castiel’s eyes without their usual derision aimed in his direction.

“Yeah, no problem man. Be right back.” Dean retreated to one of the cars to grab a water bottle out of the leftover picnic supplies from lunch. “Here, warm, but wet. Which incidentally- “Dean started to segue into his usual gutter humor, but one look at Castiel said the comedic timing would be lost on him anyway.”-Nevermind.”

He waited around while Castiel nursed the water bottle, looking up at the night sky. You could see the stars out here, not like in the city. It would be breathtaking if he couldn’t still smell lingering vomit and was companied by a sour-faced, queasy drummer.

“Better?”

Castiel got to his feet, shoving the half-empty bottle into his jacket pocket. Getting him to go without the khaki-horror was virtually impossible, so Dean hadn’t even tried. “Yes. I apologize for distracting you. You can rejoin the others. I think I will…stay outside if that’s acceptable.”

This polite attitude out of Castiel was weirding him out. He was used to spitfire and thinly veiled contempt, not _this._ ” Yeah man, of course. They should be about done, just, lay down in the car or something. Be out soon.” Dean took a step away, eyes lingering on Castiel. The man had just seemed to shut down since arriving here. Castiel had never been a high-energy guy, but Dean barely recognized the person standing before him now with his eyes on the ground, and a slump in his shoulders. Despite their history, Dean was reluctant to leave.

” Text me if you puke again or something.” He finished lamely as he retreated, wondering how, once again, he’d gotten sucked into Castiel’s gravity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to follow this project or check up on others I'm doing my tumblr is Neonbat666, just search under #Neon-writes or #Neon writes because I'm bad at consistent hashtag use! xD


	6. Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's getting married and the band is there for his big day. 
> 
> Dean can see there is something off about Castiel- More than usual. A wild weekend raises new questions and leaves them in a new territory, something very close to being friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo boy. I didn't make last month's quota did I? I'm going to try and be better xD I have too many projects going at once! Hahaha.
> 
> Also always THANK YOU to those following this little story, and to the commenters and kudos. Ya'll are great <3

Dean was convinced Sam bagged not only a good one but the best one. Not only had she signed off on Sam’s bachelor party, but she was having her version of the same across town at someplace called ‘Raging Stallions.’ Jo and Kevin were all too glad to join, but surprisingly, Castiel had stayed with the Bachelor party. Dean didn’t think for a moment ‘Tassel Tammies’ was Cas’s kind of bag, but he was done trying to psychoanalyze the drummer for today. 

 

In fact, Castiel looked as determined to get shit-faced as the rest of them, and Dean was more than happy to see the guy cut loose for once. 

 

“‘M just saying, a joint place would make it where we don’t have to choose sides.” Benny rumbled, reaching out to clap Dean on the shoulder so hard he almost toppled off his stool with a loud bark of laughter.

 

“Not sure I wanna see a bunch of dudes waggin’ their banana hammocks next to all these fine ladies,” Dean smirked, eyes scanning the pretty lengths of legs and hips on display.

 

Benny snorted, slamming back his fifth beer with casual confidence his size and musculature afforded him. “Don’t knock a good job kid!” His brows waggled, earning a sidelong glance from not only Dean, but everyone sitting nearby.

 

“Got a secret to tell?” Bobby snorted, cheeks rosy and eyes heavy. The old dog might be pretending not to be so keenly interested in what was going on around them, but Dean was sure the lap-dance he secretly paid for ten minutes ago would liven Bobby up here in a bit. Might also get Dean’s ears boxed, but it’d be worth it to see his surrogate uncle slash manager squirm. 

 

Benny boomed a laugh that earned them a few more eyes. He was a loud drunk, but his laughter was rich, warm, and better yet, infectious. “Everyone was twenty and good-lookin’ once!”

 

The idea of Benny parading around some sleazy stage in bikini bottoms was equal parts horrifying and disturbingly enticing. Not that Dean would admit to that last part out loud. He was still wrestling with the small revelation about himself Charlie made him face.  He might be trying to wrap his mind around the possibility that yeah, under certain circumstances, he might be attracted to men sexually. He wasn’t prepared to go past his humiliating jerk-off session in the shower yet, if ever.

 

“That disturbing image needs to get burned out of my mind immediately.” Sam shuddered, wobbling a little as he hefted himself up from his chair to wave down a bright-eyed young woman who to take extra care in showing off her assets any time she was close to Sam. Not that Sam ever noticed, the sap only had eyes for Jess. 

 

Better for them, Sam could drink and laugh himself silly while Dean ogled all the tits and ass he could.

 

Beside him, Castiel rumbled a slightly slurred, “No thank you miss.” As another girl tried to sidle up to him, hoping to score on a lapdance. 

 

“Ah come on Cas,” Dean grinned, brows waggling, “Live a little.”

 

Castiel’s eyes swiveled towards his, “Tequila shots and beer chasers are already putting the ‘living’ part in jeopardy. I’d rather not.” He smirked, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

 

Dean chortled, the humor in Castiel’s trademarked snark catching him off guard. “More for me.” He grinned, winking over at the girl before she retreated.”I’ll pay, come on darlin’.” He smiled easily as he slid from his barstool and followed the dancer towards the couches. 

 

The slow sway and grind of a petite, supple body against his own was the cherry on top of an otherwise great day. Castiel puking at the church aside. His brother was getting hitched, the band was on track, and the booze was going down smooth. For tonight, it almost felt like old times with his brother there. The good old days when they’d were good for nothing punks with only dreams and second-hand instruments. Before Sammy grew up without him. 

 

Dean blinked, and what felt like the minute later he was kneeling over a toilet in Sam’s house trying not to die. Bobby ditched their asses somewhere around the fourth to last shot, and from the low groans in the living room, he figured Benny and Sam had crashed hard. 

 

He heaved, spilling his guts into the bowl with a force that left him blinking back tears.

 

“Told you to stop while you were ahead.” Castiel’s voice was rougher than usual. 

 

Castiel plopped down on the side of the tub, swaying as he groped a hand out to steady himself against the wall before he toppled over. “S...Should be lucky the cab driver didn’t kick us out.”

 

A bottle of water was thrust against his cheek, and Dean weakly grasped it, letting his hand and the bottle fall to the floor listlessly. He wanted to be sass back, but he only burbled out an inarticulate ‘Urgh’ before he was puking his brains out again.

 

Once it looked like he was going to stop trying to purge everything he’d eaten for the past week, Dean leaned up with a low whine. “Kill me.” He wrestled the bottle of water open and unceremoniously tipped half the water into his open mouth, not to mention his shirt. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Castiel leaned to flushed the toilet. “Don’t be a pussy, Winchester.”

 

Dean snorted, falling back on his ass against the wall with a grunt. “Dick.”

 

The low squeak of Castiel’s body sliding into the empty tub sounded loud in the small bathroom, but at least this way the world wasn’t spinning for either of them anymore.

 

Another small sip of water later and Dean swiveled his blood-shot eyes towards the man sprawled inelegantly in the tub. “Does this’mean we’re...pukin’ buddies?” He gave an anemic chuckle, “Think tha’s the rule…Sum...Sumthing about lows ‘n highs. Bullshit like that?” 

 

“Are you suggesting, “ Damn Castiel for still being able to string two words together in passable English, he was talking slower, more careful than usual, but worlds away from Dean’s drunken mumbling. “, that ‘cause we saw each other puke ‘till we had snot-trails, that makes us friends?” Castiel grumbled from the tub; one leg slung over the side while his head rested on the drain. 

 

“Mhmm. ‘S how it works.” Dean insisted, tipping over sideways until he could sprawl out on the bathroom floor.

 

Castiel’s foot twitched, and a low huff that sounded suspiciously close to a chuckle echoed from the tub.”Well...if that’s how it works.” He conceded, stretching his leg out until the tip of his sneaker caught Dean on his shoulder. “Don’t die on your brother’s floor.”

 

“No promises.” Dean hugged the water bottle to his chest, a paltry shield against the ravages of his own bad decisions. 

 

Still, rampant nausea and a bile-wet tongue aside, it had still been a damn good day. 

 

* * *

 

 

Weddings weren’t Dean’s bag, but the five-alarm hangover he was sporting wasn’t helping. It had taken six pots of coffee and a mountain of donuts to get any them moving, but Sam was at least consoled in the fact that Jess wasn’t doing any better. According to Charlie, they’d gotten ‘turnt.’ Whatever the fuck that meant.

 

At least the couple hadn’t forced them all into penguin suits. No one could afford the rentals. They’d tried to dress the part, but they all still looked like the bunch of ragtag punks they always did. Black slacks or dresses made them look more new-wave than rock, but Dean would put up with it for his baby brother.

 

He was itching for a smoke as he tugged at the black-tie cinching his button down.  Sam looked moments away from keeling over, either by lingering alcohol poisoning or nerves. Yet, Sam wasn’t the one that looked about ready to bolt from the church.

 

Castiel sat in the second row, face ashen with a cold sweat beading on his forehead. He hadn’t drank nearly as much as the rest of them, so Dean knew he wasn’t feeling like the steaming pile of dogshit Dean was. It had to be that ‘phobia’ thing Cas had mentioned.

 

Who the hell was afraid of churches? Dean was sure there was a backstory there, but they’d just gotten to the point where they could say ‘good morning’ to each other without sneering it. Dean wasn’t about to go plowing into a new minefield. 

 

Kevin started the wedding march on his keyboard from the corner, and Dean’s attention snapped towards the aisle. Jess looked like a vision in a simple second-hand pale cream dress and a hand-sewn veil. Simple, understated in its thriftiness, but stunning. 

 

Dean smiled, reaching out to clasp his hand on Sam’s shoulder. The big idiot was already tearing up, and Jess wasn’t even halfway down the aisle. Bobby owed Dean ten bucks; he’d bet Sam wouldn’t start the waterworks until he lifted the veil. Dean knew Sam better than that.

 

Personal vows were kind of schmaltzy in Dean’s opinion, but hell, what did he know? Watching Sam and Jess sniffle and laugh through their vows left a hard lump in Dean’s throat, and only sheer force of well kept him from weeping like a little girl in front of thirty people. He did spy Bobby sniffling under his hat. Sentimental old fart. 

 

The reception feels more like an after party, and that’s something Dean could get behind.

 

“Come on! Half these people have never heard you, play for me.” Jess begged her newly minted husband up on stage with the others. Castiel happily relinquished his kit; he hadn’t recovered his coloring even after leaving the church. Maybe hitting the bar would do him some good.

 

“Fine, but if I suck it’s because I haven’t picked up my sticks in months.” Sam’s grumble was ruined by the fond, dopey smile curling his lips. 

 

Dean beamed, gathering the others to hurriedly decide what they should play. In the end, Sam got the deciding vote, and after the coos ended, they geared up. 

 

It had been a while since Dean sang a Journey cover, but you couldn’t go wrong with ‘Faithfully.’ 

 

He’d felt like a fish out of water since being back in his old stomping grounds, but it felt nice to fall into the familiarity of performing, even if this performance lacked the flirtations with the crowd and the only ones swooning were Jess’ teenage cousins. 

 

By the end of the song, Jess was climbing the stage to pull Sam into a crushing kiss, much to the delight of all. Dean shook his head fondly, watching as Sam was dragged off stage to dance with the Mrs. 

 

“Guess we’re down a drummer.” Dean smirked, stepping down off the stage.”Take ten and throw on something dancy while I find Cas.” Kevin gave a small wave and returned to the laptop in charge of the readied playlist when they weren’t singing. 

 

As usual, Castiel had disappeared. No one had seen him slip out, but Dean figured he had to be around here somewhere. Bobby and Benny were the ones with the rental keys. 

 

Dean wandered, checking the nooks and crannies. The past months had taught him that Cas liked to ferret himself away from people when they weren't performing. For an aspiring rock-star, the guy fucking hated socializing.  

 

He was about to give up after he turned to check the what felt like the fifteenth door, a small side-room used to store extra tables and chairs in the small town civic center. A familiar voice punched out a low groan from the partially-shut door, and Dean’s stomach soured. Goddammit, again?

 

Gritting his teeth, Dean peered in, confirming that once again he’d stumbled on something he had no business seeing.  Fuck, he remembered that guy. Leon? Either a cousin or an acquaintance of Jess’s, pants around his ankles, and dick buried in Castiel’s ass. Castiel sprawled on the table, gripping the edge as his legs locked around Leon’s waist. 

 

Heat flooded Dean’s cheeks, but like before, he couldn’t immediately wrench himself away. His eyes scanned the length of Leon’s athletic body, plowing into Castiel hard enough it made the table legs squeak and scrape against the floor. 

 

And god, last time Dean hadn’t seen Castiel’s front half when he had a mouth full of cock, but this was ridiculous. He couldn’t see Castiel’s crotch from this angle, but he could tell the man was fisting the length of his dick as sharp puffs of air punched from his lungs at each hard thrust into his ass. 

 

Dean’s eyes drank in all there was to see, only to pause when they finally reached Castiel’s face. Dean’s brows furrowed as Castiel’s lips parted in another sinfully deep moan. 

 

Dean wouldn’t say he had a master’s degree in fucking, but he could tell when someone was enjoying it or not. No part of Castiel’s face said ‘Fuck me’ aside from his too-practiced groans for more. Castiel’s eyes were the same frigid depths they always were. Like he was a million miles away. 

 

Dean stepped back from the door, the lingering mire of nausea deepening. 

 

Swallowing, Dean fled back to the reception hall, making a quick excuse that he hadn’t been able to find Cas and that he needed a smoke break anyway.  He would pointedly ignore Sam’s cluck of displeasure when Dean fished his pack from his pocket and ducked outside, determined to force the quiet unease within. It was Jess and Sam’s day; he didn’t want his mind to be filled with Castiel and all the questions that came with the weird drummer.

 

But as usual, it was easier said than done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Write

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, if anyone wants to follow my tumblr for updates, news on other stories, etc go to : http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ under my fanfic tags. Also search #Neon-writes


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